


Rise of the Titans

by ibreathethroughwords



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: New Republic Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: AU, AU where nobody dies at Bilbringi except Rukh, Action/Adventure, Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/M, I promise it's not as bloody as SnK, Implied Torture, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Liberties Taken With Canon Material, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, SnK spoilers for chapter 68 & 69 in chapter 7 as related to Levi, Starvation, THREE GUESSES WHO IT IS, abuse of one's adult child, actual human experimentation, post-Bilbringi, sciencing, someone gets cut in half, tags added with new chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 62,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1784836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibreathethroughwords/pseuds/ibreathethroughwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Bilbringi, the remnants of the Empire rally again, seek out new resources, and find they have to battle an incredibly unexpected enemy.</p><p>You don't need to have seen or read Attack on Titan to follow the plot, but it will definitely help if you're familiar with Star Wars (especially the Thrawn trilogy). I have links to the stories if anybody wants to read them, since for some reason they're all available for free online now.</p><p>Edit 05/23/2015: Chapters 2-6 edited, Imperial politics altered slightly</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *whispers* please bear in mind that this is a crossover AU. please bear in mind that it changes the character situations. please message me on tumblr or in comments if you're interested in doing star wars RP centered around the thrawn trilogy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The screams that erupted from the Assembly Representative's companions silenced the marketplace enough that the lieutenant's voice was softer to avoid his own detection as he gave the order to begin pulling back. Jean had to confirm first before he followed, so he pushed his way toward the front. Out of the corner of his eye Jean saw Marco doing the same, though they were careful not to look at each other. A medic pushed through, finally drawn by the cry for one, and turned the rep's head to get a better look at where the bullet had entered her brain.

“Stay within my line of sight,” came the monotone order over his earpiece. “And move two steps to the right – you're blocking Ensign Braus's view of the target.” Suppressing his sigh at the instructions issued by Lieutenant Ackerman over the com, Ensign Jean Kirstein casually moved over as instructed, and shifted his weight in just the right way to keep himself from accidentally falling in to Sasha's line of fire if he was knocked over by the large crowd if they panicked when the young woman gritted her teeth, swallowed her distaste, and followed through on the assassination their team had spent the week discreetly arranging.

The target just up ahead – a powerful and well-respected member of the Rebellion's Assembly – had been carefully selected by Grand Admiral Thrawn and Commander Smith for this mission. She was young, that much was easy enough to see despite the numerous differences between their races. For one thing, her mottled appendages had yet to lose color the way the rest of her race did with age. The representative was energetic, spoke passionately about her beliefs, and had all the idealism of untainted youth. Usually those were laudable qualities, and Jean wouldn’t see any fault in them; however, she was too naive, too honest, and too well-loved by the tentacle-covered natives of her world. She was a good person, and Jean didn't particularly want to see her killed, but orders were orders even if they left a disgusting aftertaste in his mouth. This Assembly Representative was decidedly more neutral in her opinions of the Galactic War than her political opponents, and had begun arguing for trade with nearby Imperial systems. The idea was popular with the people, but not her fellow politicians – not here or on Coruscant.

Her assassination and the framing of one of her chronically less-honest political rivals who frequently argued for more loyalty to the Rebellion government and who was much less of an idealist would be enough to jump start a civil war here that those of Lieutenant Ackerman's destabilization squad had been carefully building the population toward for months now. This world was the most strategic foothold the Rebellion had near this side of Imperial territory, and it was essential that the Rebellion's hold over it became less stable. Jean supposed it would also serve to distract their Inner Council at the moment when Thrawn intended to launch another campaign, though they were still picking up the pieces from the Battle of Bilbringi. This particular planet also had a large military, and often supplemented Rebellion forces nearby. Starting a civil war here would make it easier to conquer this planet due to the distraction or destruction of that army by the people, or for Thrawn to use diplomacy and the quiet threat of force to step in and end it, and make the Empire appear heroic in the eyes of the common citizens when the Rebellion was too occupied to get around to stepping in and helping out the good citizens of the planet whose name was equally impossible to pronounce as the name of their race. It was a good plan, but Jean didn't understand why they couldn't just take the damn planet by storm instead of stirring up the proverbial mynock and watching the chaos unfold.

Anything sounded better than leaning against a wall for over an hour, arms crossed over a brown tunic. One brown boot over his tan slacks was resting against the wall behind him as he waited. The goal, of course, was to be able to blend in with the human traders and workers who lived on this planet so that he could get close enough to the representative to keep an eye on the situation as it progressed.

The only thing they were waiting for now after what felt like eons of work was the green light from Operations to take her out. Commander Smith was certainly taking his damn time about transmitting the signal, Jean thought with a huff of impatience. If they didn't move on this soon, they risked her moving out of the location they had so carefully maneuvered her to with traffic problems and a loving crowd wanting all of her attention. She would have to be tailed, the shot would have to be set up again, and the risk of getting caught would be higher with every moment they had to follow her around. Not only did they have to worry about that, but if this dragged out much longer, it could throw off the Fleet's campaign schedule. If that happened they ran the risk of inciting the Grand Admiral's occasionally-lethal ire over this, and he'd been monitoring Intelligence closer than usual lately thanks to the sloppiness of the agents on Poderis after their failure to capture Skywalker.

Jean's thoughts were interrupted by Lieutenant Ackerman's voice finally coming over his earpiece with the news he’d been waiting nearly an hour and fifteen minutes to hear. “We've been given the green light. All units be ready to fall back to your assigned extraction points on my mark. Acknowledge.”

He checked in with his code name, and listened to the others confirming their understanding of the order, listened to Ackerman give Sasha the order to fire when ready, and shifted just a little further back as he waited on her so he could do his part of the mission. Knowing it could be awhile before she had a clear shot, Jean tried to get comfortable.

Fortunately, Sasha didn't make them wait long.

The weapon she was using was a seriously old piece of junk generously called a 'rifle' that the commanders of the _Chimaera's_ Intelligence section – hell, even the Grand Admiral and Captain Pellaeon, who had come down to see the damn thing when it had been brought on board by Acquisitions – had all fondly referred to as a beautiful antique, as though it wasn't a piece of ancient shit dug up from a pre-space period of some obscure backwater planet nobody cared about anymore. Jean certainly couldn't remember the name of it. What did it matter? The antiquated “work of art” didn’t even fire blaster bolts. Sasha was a natural with damn near any long-range weapon though, good enough to shame any stormtrooper, and was therefore their squad's designated sniper. The only reason she was using this instead of a stealthier blaster was that the rival they intended to frame also collected weapons like these and knew how to use them effectively. There were rumors that the Human senator had attempted to manufacture some of these “guns” (though what he intended to do with such obsolete technology was beyond Jean’s ability to speculate), and rumors were always difficult to disprove. No one would be able to prove the gun and bullet didn’t come from her rival, as the bullets were difficult to come by and harder still to trace, as was the rifle. 

Of course, that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

Ackerman reminded him briefly not to even move an inch, and Sasha fired as she quickly got a clear shot. Jean felt more than heard the bullet go whizzing passed him and turned to watch the reaction to it. Nobody else seemed to have heard it over the noise of the incredibly crowded marketplace.

There were other benefits to using something this ancient, he recalled as he moved forward to observe and confirm her death once she had fallen to the ground and the bystanders were screaming and fleeing. Bullets didn't cauterize wounds like blasters did. Bullets had a tendency to fragment and go for organs such as the heart, according to the expert on historical weapons they’d managed to find and casually question, and could easily cause someone to bleed out. Just to be certain, however, this bullet had been formed with a metal that this completely unpronounceable species was allergic to. 

There was no way she was surviving this. 

The screams that erupted from the Assembly Representative's companions silenced the marketplace enough that the lieutenant's voice was softer to avoid his own detection as he gave the order to begin pulling back. Jean had to confirm first before he followed, so he pushed his way toward the front. Out of the corner of his eye Jean saw Marco doing the same, though they were careful not to look at each other. A medic pushed through, finally drawn by the cry for one, and turned the rep's head to get a better look at where the bullet had entered her brain.

Sasha's shot had been right on target. The bullet had hit her right in the middle of what Jean could only call her forehead. The medic was one of their permanent Intelligence contacts here, and his job was to discreetly finish her off if Sasha's shot hadn't managed to kill her. After running a medical scanner over her body to check her vitals and brain activity at an angle which allowed the observing Intelligence agents to see the read-out, the doctor pronounced her dead at the scene to the crowd gathered around. The news was satisfactory.

Pretending to be more horror-stricken than he really was, Jean turned away to head to his assigned extraction point at a nearby docking bay facility. He reported in quietly as he walked to report the mission successful via previously agreed-upon code words. Their work here was done for now, and if the Commander and the Grand Admiral were correct, this planet was about to dissolve into civil war. While the citizens were busy pointing fingers, Intel's top destabilization unit would watch from afar to nudge it as necessary, safe and sound on the _Chimaera_ from the inevitable destruction they would leave in their wake.

– – –

The door to the bridge ready room swished closed behind Ensigns Bodt, Kirstein, and Braus, as Commander Erwin Smith, leader of the Chimaera's Intelligence section and Fleet Chief of the Bureau of Operations, and Lieutenant Levi Ackerman, Commander of the Bureau of Operation's Destabilization Squad exchanged a mutually satisfied look. This operation had gone relatively smoothly, despite the blow the Empire's recent major losses had had on troop morale and efficiency. Losing the Ubiqtorate base that was loyal to the Grand Admiral had reduced the resources Erwin and his subordinates needed to do their jobs, but they had adjusted well and pulled through despite the fact that most of Levi's incredibly talented squad were fresh out of the Academy. That this operation had been a success was as much a testament to that adaptive ability as it was to the raw skill of the young men and women Levi had selected after all but one member of his previous unit had been decimated during the Battle of Bilbringi.

“They're performing much better than anticipated,” Thrawn observed into the silence following the departure of the lower-ranking officers from the room. “Particularly given their lack of experience.” If Erwin hadn't known any better, he would think the Grand Admiral fully capable of mind reading: the man always seemed to know what any of his officers – and even his enemies – were thinking, sometimes even before they did. It was something that had thrown him off balance at first when Thrawn had taken the _Chimaera_ as his flagship well over a year ago. With time, he had adjusted to it, and didn't become nearly as exasperated with it as their captain still sometimes could be.

The compliment drew the slightest of smiles from Erwin's lips. “Thank you, Admiral,” he replied. “Though I'm afraid Lieutenant Ackerman deserves all the credit for their improvement. He's been working with them one-on-one for the past few months to develop a better idea of their strengths and weaknesses and improve on them. It seems to be working better than the lessons they were taught in the Academy.”

Thrawn arched one blue-black eyebrow and turned his head to give Levi an approving look. “I'm inclined to agree. Well done,” he praised. “Your results are particularly impressive, given their ages.”

Levi wasn't used to being the center of attention, and he snuck a dirty look at Erwin for it because now both Grand Admiral Thrawn and Captain Pellaeon were looking at him. “Thank you, Admiral,” Levi replied. His monotone voice was military crisp and precise, as it only ever was in front of specific superior officers or when dealing with his unit. Erwin honestly didn't think he would ever be used to hearing Levi speak like that. 

Thrawn favored Levi with a tight smile that gave Erwin the impression the blue-skinned alien knew exactly how uncomfortable Levi was in this situation. If Thrawn was aware of that, then he also could likely see how much conscious effort it still took Levi to behave as an Imperial Intelligence officer ought to behave in front of the highest ranking authority in the whole of the remaining Galactic Empire. “Keep up the good work,” Thrawn said, and stood. The other three men stood as well, the military etiquette having long-since been drilled into their heads. “I expect to have everyone's written reports on file within the next four hours.”

“Yes, sir,” Erwin and Levi replied together and watched their leader and the Captain exit the room.

Levi dropped the proper officer act as soon as the door slid shut behind their superiors. “Are you going to give the order to those brats to get started or do you want me to do it?” he asked, arms folded over the chest of the civilian clothes he'd worn on the surface.

Erwin gave him a fond smile. “If you insist on phrasing it that way then I should definitely make you do it, no matter how badly you want to shower before you get started on your written report.”

Levi scowled at him. Though he had lived in the underbelly of Coruscant most of his life amongst the dirt and dregs of the planet-wide city – or perhaps because of it – Levi hated messes and preferred the sterile nature of shipboard life to having to go planet-side to do the Empire's dirty work. It wasn't just that Levi was a germaphobe: Erwin's current theory was that dirt and grime reminded Levi of the life he never wanted to live or think of again. Life on an Imperial Star Destroyer was probably the cleanest life Levi would ever find outside of a cleanroom. 

“You can give the order then,” Levi replied, adding what Erwin suspected was a glare.

“All right,” Erwin agreed nonchalantly, as though that was what he had been planning all along. They were alone now, so he rested a gentle hand on Levi's shoulder. He had worked hard, and Erwin was inclined to reward him for it, as fond as he was of picking on him. “You're dismissed. Go get cleaned up and file your report.”

The acerbic look Levi gave him didn't fool Erwin in the slightest. Levi wasn't mad at all. “Yes, sir,” he said, and didn't even bother saluting or waiting for Erwin before he was on his way out the door and into the turbolift to go get a shower. Erwin shook his head and finished gathering up the datacards he'd brought with him before following Levi from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit, 4/18/15: Went through and expanded on some parts, deleted a few things, altered some wording. No major changes to this chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a handful of seconds, the episode passed, and Pellaeon could see Thrawn mentally working to drag himself out of the memory and regain control over his mind and body. Thrawn looked up to meet Pellaeon's patient gaze, and the silent appreciation of the captain's tolerance in regards to this ongoing problem was plain as the nose on his face. “It seems to me that it would be a good idea for me to begin training a successor,” he finished, voice tense but controlled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 05/23/2015: I finally got around to reading more of the reader's companion stuff like _The Essential Guide to Warfare_ and _Crisis of Faith_ so I've edited this just a bit for the political stuff going on that I now have a better grasp of.

It was more because his superiors were interested in testing his tactical skills and only partially that no one else had been available that Armin had been the one chosen to lead the small team sent to Wayland to investigate the aftermath of the Rebellion’s destruction to their facilities. He, Eren, and Mikasa had landed undetected several miles away over a week ago and hiked the rest of the way to Mount Tantiss under strict radio silence. Once there, they had settled in to observe and estimate the damage done to the Emperor's Storehouse. They knew they might have to go up against a group of the treacherous Noghri people if they were caught, and the Noghri – all trained, very experienced assassins thanks to their species’ history and a bit of Imperial training – would have the upper hand in a situation where they were on the forest floor. With this in mind, Lieutenant Zoe had equipped them with a variety of new, experimental tech for this mission. Since it had been decided that a small group would have an easier time avoiding detection on a recon mission than a larger, more obvious one would, a large number of the new tech was designed to make defense easier and improve their individual maneuverability in a number of close combat situations in certain planetary conditions.

The strangest piece of tech they each wore was designed to give the humans the advantage in a city or forest terrain where their enemies were faster or more agile. It was called 3-Dimensional Maneuvering Gear, or 3DMG for short. A harness made of straps was worn over most of the body to keep muscles and bones aligned properly during high-speed maneuvers. It used a system of grappling hooks and mini-repulsors to fling the user around a combat ground, and they wielded long vibroknives that were powerful enough to cut through most armor. So far, only the Intelligence units aboard the _Chimaera_ had been trained on these, and they were under strict orders not to let them fall into enemy hands. Of the three of them, Mikasa was definitely the best with the 3DMG and the sharp, thick blades that were used with it, but Armin and Eren could hold their own in a fight.

So far on this mission, they had worn them but hadn't needed to use them much. Eren had wanted to use them to get up into the trees, but Armin didn't want to risk one of the Noghri hearing the repulsors firing and having them search the area for them. The Noghri were a hell of a lot stealthier than they were, and would have no trouble sneaking up on them. There was also always the risk that, despite the fact that they were wearing civilian clothes, any of the Noghri here might be from a former Imperial commando squad and recognize them. Though Thrawn had done his best to keep the Noghri and Humans separated for the safety of the Humans, sometimes it had been necessary for Intelligence to work with the commando squads, either side-by-side, to brief them, or the debrief them after a mission. Even though the three of them were nearly fresh out of the Academy, they had still done a considerable amount of work alongside the Noghri in the last few months before everything had gone to hell.

Being caught here by them could be catastrophic. 

Armin had kept their sensors running until they had reached the base of Mount Tantiss, then ordered all detectable electronic equipment be shut off to avoid Rebel scanners. They spent the remainder of the next few days moving around the impressive base of the mountain, avoiding patrols, and occasionally slipping into the mountain through the sewage openings and air vents to estimate what was left. For months, this base had been the Grand Admiral's crowning achievement. Looking at it now, Armin couldn't help but feel anger at what it had been reduced to. They hadn't been able to get to everything inside the mountain due to all the rubble, even with the help of the 3DMG, from any of the directions they had tried so far. While the Emperor's treasure rooms were only slightly destroyed, there was plenty there to suggest that this couldn't be the only storehouse. Many of the collections seemed to be incomplete, and there were antique vehicles missing from the chronological order in the pre-Empire collection to suggest that there had to be some elsewhere. Emperor Palpatine hadn’t been a man for half-measures.

As far as the lower floors went, the entire cloning chamber was trashed. It was possible there were still some things that were salvageable; they just couldn't get far enough into the cloning chamber to check from any of the previous directions they had attempted, and the computer systems were non-operational on that side. They couldn't even really get to the main computer, thanks to the mess the Rebellion had made. The only things left for them to do were to try the front entrance to see if they could make a count of the remaining Spaarti cylinders, and then make a final count of the number of Rebel troops stationed here and the attitude of the natives to their presence.

From their current vantage point in the tree canopy, Armin could see a group of Noghri and Rebellion personnel poking around the front entrance now and again, but it was the soldiers he couldn't see that had him concerned. There had been no Noghri warbling or bird calls so far (though they knew some of the gray-skinned race of aliens were here), or tails on them that their eyes or equipment had been able to discern. Still, it would increase their risk of being caught and interrogated if they stayed in one place for too long. The guards wandered away, and Armin gave the hand signal to move. Now was their best chance to examine things from the front entrance. The 3DMG was fast, and they were able to shoot from the trees and then swing in through the doors without being spotted.

The Emperor's storehouse was large, but there was no need for them to go through the entire thing again. Commander Smith had kept the mission objections simple. The first and easiest was for them to get in and out without being noticed. They were also to confirm the number of Spaarti cylinders that were still intact, if possible, and to note anything of interest in the treasure rooms – especially art. Most importantly, they were to activate a secret transmitter that would feed information about the Rebellion's plans for the mountain straight to the Chimaera's Intelligence section. Finally, they were to make it to the throne room if they could and confirm the death of Thrawn's insane pet Jedi, as Captain Pellaeon had put it in the briefing with no small amount of bitterness in his eyes. If there were any Imperial troops being held at the mountain and Armin felt they could be freed and brought home without compromising the other objectives, they were to free them, but the other objectives had been specified as the priorities.

It didn't matter, as there weren't any living troops there and even the front entrance didn't have much off of it for them to find. Carefully, he avoided looking at the bodies of the Imperials that had been killed in the attack, fearfully of seeing someone he knew. The obstructions of rock were easier to pay attention to, and Armin focused on recording damage estimates and details. There was nothing that Armin could do without working consoles and a large crew to remove the rubble, and he feared they would have to write the entire mountain off as a loss. Activating the transmitter was the last thing they did, once they had confirmed they couldn't get to the royal chambers from here either, and then they were heading back to the ship and off into space.

The entire stay on the planet they hadn't run into any kind of trouble, but the moment they were out of Wayland's atmosphere and driving hard to get out of the planet’s gravitational field that the mission started to get a little difficult. As Mikasa angled them away from the moon, a Rebellion frigate came around the opposite side of the planet and put itself on a course to block them. Fortunately, they had plenty of options when it came to direction they could go. Armin glanced quickly at the displays in front of him. They were still well within the planet's gravity field and wouldn't be able to jump to hyperspace for a few more minutes yet.

“They're hailing us,” Eren informed Armin as Mikasa focused on staying out of the frigate's turbolaser and tractor beam range. The ship they had been assigned for the mission was marked as a smuggler's ship would be. Intelligence's tech people had even altered the broadcast ID by masking their incredibly secure, fake smuggler's ID with a slightly more obvious fake ID. If the Rebellion's people cracked the first one, they would probably just assume they were, in fact, smugglers. No matter what, there was no way they could let the Rebellion think that Imperials had been here. It was key, or so they had been told, that the Rebels be allowed to underestimate them. Comfort and security, Armin supposed, might lead the Rebel leadership into making a mistake.

“We'll have to try to talk our way out,” Armin decided. “Mikasa, keep us out of range of their tractor beams, even if you have to pick a different direction for us to go. Eren, keep an eye on the scanners. They may not be alone out here.”

He got acknowledgments, and then pressed the button that would allow Armin to respond to the hail. “This is Captain Amir of the freighter _Gold Lust_ ,” Armin lied. “What can we do for you, unidentified ship?”

The voice of the man who answered him sounded middle-aged, overworked, and underpaid. It was definitely a grumpy voice, probably a career officer. “This is Lieutenant Harl of the New Republic frigate _Revolution_. State your business in this system, _Gold Lust_.”

“We're just passing through,” Armin replied, keeping his tone as brusque and business-like as possible, and definitely not the precise tone and way of speaking that had been drilled into his head by his instructors. “We had to land somewhere to fix a handful of mechanical issues before they became major problems and this was the closest planet. We're headed out to resume our shipping schedule now.”

There was a lull between replies – likely the Rebels had figured out that the first half of the ID code – the part that looked legit on the surface – was fake. Eren shifted impatiently in his seat, and Armin reached over and rested a hand on his bicep to calm him. While they waited for the Rebellion to hurry up and reply, Armin keyed the navicomputer to begin plotting their course for their first jump, then reached over to mute the comm.

“Mikasa, keep taking us out of the gravity well and away from that ship. If we cooperate we'll definitely look like spies to this guy.”

Smugglers would make a break for it, and that's what they were going to do.

The irritated voice of the Rebel officer cut back in before Armin could give out any further instructions. “Gold Lust, you are to hold your position and shut down your engines.”

That wasn't going to happen. Armin unmuted the channel. “I'm afraid I can't do that,” he said, putting a carefully calculated note of regret in his tone. Mikasa nursed a little more speed from the engines as the _Revolution_ neared them. They were almost to the edge of the planet's gravitational well, and the navicomputer was nearly finished. “We've been delayed by New Republic ships before – it will interfere too much with our schedule if we just do as we're told.”

“They're activating their tractor beam,” Eren reported quietly. “One squadron of X-wings has been launched.” His voice was tense. Armin reached over to gently pat his shoulder. Eren had been so quiet and tense lately, it seemed all he and Mikasa could do sometimes was to just reassure him and wonder what the hell had happened on Eren's last shore leave at home.

“We'll be gone before they can reach us,” Armin calmly assured him.

If Armin had thought the officer was irritated before, that was nothing compared to how he sounded now. “Smuggler, you are ordered to power down and prepare to be boarded!”

Like they would, even if they had merely been smugglers. The navicomputer beeped, and Armin relaxed a little. “Catch us if you can then,” he replied, affecting typical smuggler cockiness in his voice that he didn't really feel. His heart was still racing in his chest. If they were caught, there would be dire consequences.

They hit the limit of the planet's gravity and Mikasa pulled the lever that sent them into hyperspace. The stars blurred around them and Armin heard Eren breathe a sigh of relief. As nice as it was to be away from the ship, it was too soon to relax. “We're not in the clear yet,” Armin reminded him as they settled in for the first of the many hops back home.

Worrying, it turned out, had been uncalled for. Five jumps and two days later they had shaken the Rebel pursuers and were finally docking in the Chimaera's hangar bay. It was about damn time too – Armin was ready to be off the tiny freighter and out of civilian clothes. They just felt weird to him now, and he wanted his nice, clean uniform. Armin breathed a sigh of relief as he stood and stretched. It was nice to be back to their home away from home. He and the other two agents shouldered their packs as the ramp lowered and headed down it together. Lieutenant Ackerman was waiting for them when they reached the bottom and took a few steps away from the shuttle. The three of them snapped to attention until their superior waved them down.

“You three stink,” Levi observed, making a face at them.

“It was a long trip with no shower,” Mikasa reminded him. Her monotone sounded so much like her uncle's, and she looked just as displeased with the fact that they were filthy as he did.

Levi wasn't about to argue with them, it seemed. “Go get cleaned up and file your preliminary reports,” he ordered. “The Grand Admiral's given you three hours to do all that. You'll be sent for when he's ready to debrief you. You're dismissed.”

The three of them acknowledged the order and practically fled to the turbolift to get back to their rooms for the showers they'd been longing for over the entire trip.

– – –

Reading over the three preliminary reports took the better part of an hour. Hearing the full report directly from Ensign Arlert took another hour and a half out of Pellaeon's day and left him feeling frustrated and resigned. It wasn't good news at all. Ensign Arlert had been very carefully selected for this recon mission, and his thorough report had shown that trust had been well-placed. Everyone, including Pellaeon and Thrawn, expected him to go far.

That didn't make the news any easier to hear. After Arlert had been dismissed, Thrawn and Pellaeon had sat in silence for several minutes, each contemplating the ramifications of the situation. Thrawn's original campaign plan had relied heavily on the supply of clones to build up their manpower and lower their need for conscripts to nothing. Now a new campaign plan would have to be developed, and they would have to do it with less men than they had originally planned on having, unless they did manage to find one of these other elusive storehouses – if they even really existed.

It was Thrawn who broke the silence; not surprising, since Pellaeon was loathe to intrude on his superior's thoughts even under the best of circumstances. “There are opportunities to be had here, and alternatives to explore.” His tone was contemplative, though not terribly optimistic. “We do still have the blueprints of the original Spaarti cloning cylinders.”

They did, but even repairing the ones that had already been constructed in Mount Tantiss had cost quite a bit. There were a shipyard and Intelligence base to retake and have any lingering damage from the attack repaired, some of their own capital ships still badly in need of repairs and system overhauls, and that meant they had a lot less money with which to work, if they could even pry a little extra out of the Moffs' cold fingers. “The cylinders are likely going to be expensive to rebuild in similar numbers, to say nothing of all the new nutrient frames for all the new ysalimiri we'll need,” Pellaeon pointed out. “If we can salvage anything at all from the mountain and move it elsewhere, it might save us some money – but it might be even more expensive to transport them.” It was a hunch, but he had a feeling it was one of the things Thrawn was considering.

They had still did have the numbers for a full assault on Wayland, Pellaeon knew, and Thrawn knew it too. That wouldn't be the problem. Digging out the contents of Mount Tantiss would be the hard part. “Indeed,” he replied softly, and lifted his eyes to meet Pellaeon's. There was a small, approving smile there, and Pellaeon felt a flash of pride for having that look directed at him. “The question, then, is which is going to be cheaper. You'll instruct Engineering to do a cost projection for building 2,000 new cylinders in a new location, and another using Ensign Arlert's estimate of the damage and the data his team gathered about the potential cost of excavating. We'll use that to decide whether to build new ones on a safer world or to excavate and move any remaining cylinders on top of building more. You will also instruct Commander Smith to begin searching for a suitable location for a cloning facility in the Unknown Regions.” Thrawn paused and took a sip from his mug. “From there we will have an easier time revisiting our plans for the long-term campaign.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon replied. It was probably the best place to start. No matter what, they needed to reevaluate everything before they could begin making a serious push into the Rebel's territory or to regain their bases.

The orders took him only a couple of moments to key in. Engineering was going to _love_ that, he was sure, but they would do their duty, as would Commander Smith.

When Thrawn still hadn't moved to stand or to dismiss the captain even after Engineering acknowledged the order, Pellaeon remained in his seat. Something about the look on Thrawn's face held his attention and let him know that they weren't finished here just yet. There was clearly more on the Grand Admiral's mind than what remained of Mount Tantiss. By now, Pellaeon had learned to wait; only in his own time would Thrawn speak his mind. It seemed to Pellaeon as though he was prioritizing, or trying to decide if he ought to say something and how to phrase it.

This time, his patience paid off after only a couple of minutes of waiting, as opposed to an hour or more as it was at other times. “In the meantime, it would serve us well politically to regain our earlier momentum and our main shipyard,” Thrawn observed. “What has Intelligence said about the situation there?”

Having just talked to Smith about that this morning, Pellaeon didn't need to look at the report again. “Commander Smith reported this morning that there have been no follow up reports or changes from the last assessment given by Commander Dawk. The Rebels still have full control of the facility, and our own troops that were stationed there are still being held under guard and awaiting processing and transfer to a prison facility well outside of our territory. The number of Rebellion ships and personnel there has not changed. Commander Dawk expects they'll be ready to transport our people within the next two weeks.”

“Then Bilbringi is where we should focus our attention for now,” Thrawn decided. “It seems as though they've more or less settled on the number of troops and ships they plan to keep stationed there to defend the facility.” 

There was another pause while Thrawn studied Pellaeon's face for his reaction to the implication that he intended to go back to regain their shipyard. The Rebellion's attack on Bilbringi had been a topic of tension between them in the days leading up to the battle, and they hadn't really discussed the events that had occurred leading up to and including Pellaeon's ordered retreat save for hi initial report to Thrawn when he had been deemed awake enough to retain vital information. Pellaeon blamed himself for not being able to keep the Fleet together to push the Rebellion back as news of Thrawn's injury began to spread from ship to ship; at the time, morale had been dropping dangerously low, and there seemed to be no alternate course of action for him to take. Of course, now that he'd had weeks to think on it, Pellaeon was sure there was something he'd have been able to do that wouldn't have lost their major shipyard. Even mentioning it made him a little tense, and he was sure Thrawn knew – or else why would he be studying Pellaeon so closely for a reaction? Those glowing red eyes glinted as they took in the tightness of Pellaeon's jaw, the way his hand clenched slightly on the surface of the table, and the sudden difficulty Pellaeon had in maintaining eye contact. Thrawn knew. Thrawn knew, and he wanted to gauge his subordinate's thoughts.

When he finally spoke, his tone wasn't the cold accusation belying a lack of trust that Pellaeon feared, or even a rebuke over his personal feelings on the matter. Thrawn's voice was soothing, clearly an attempt to reassure him about his decision. It shouldn't have been surprising by now – looking back, Thrawn had always made an attempt to keep him calm and assured of their victory – but serving under Vader for so long made dealing with such a different superior a little difficult from time to time. “It may comfort you to know that this time, I would like to make changes to how we go about this.” 

His eyes were still intensely fixed on Pellaeon's face, still studying him as Thrawn said what he needed to say. Pellaeon raised an eyebrow at the word “changes” and “we”, but was willing to hear Thrawn out on this. The emphasis on those words had sounded just this side of too deliberate for him to believe they weren’t carefully chosen. “You will assist me in developing our full strategy for the attack and long-term defense of the shipyards,” he continued. “In addition, when Engineering has delivered their report, you will assist me in developing our short and long-term goals along with a campaign outline to achieve them.”

Pellaeon blinked, more than a little surprised by the Grand Admiral's decision. While he had been formally trained in military strategy during his time in the Academy and his decades of service, none of his former commanders had shown anywhere near the same level of interest in developing his tactical and leadership skills as Thrawn consistently displayed. In addition, Thrawn’s pattern rarely involved Pellaeon on certain portions of a battle plan (though Pellaeon was always briefed thoroughly before any offensives), and he had never requested this much assistance or been willing to allow him to know any details until he had a rough plan of attack and goals for the offensive firmly set in his mind. Coming from a man who Pellaeon had only ever known to play _everything_ as close to his chest as possible, the announcement was a surprise. 

It took him a moment to gather himself, during which time Thrawn simply watched him, the corners of his mouth raised minutely upward in what appeared to be amusement as he waited for Pellaeon to figure out how to react to that news. When Pellaeon reacted with a frown a moment later, the smile faded and Thrawn's eyes narrowed as he tried to discern the cause from Pellaeon's face alone. It was a very sudden change of procedure for a man so determined to do things his own way and in his own time, and while he was used to Thrawn keeping him off-balance, he surely couldn’t just assume this was a good thing. Deception had been the norm among the officers before the Battle of Endor, and he knew Thrawn was a master manipulator. Was he preforming so poorly that Thrawn felt he needed additional training and the man was simply trying to phrase it politely? 

No, Thrawn wouldn't. After all, he had seen the Grand Admiral execute his men on the spot for their failures. If there was a problem with his performance, or if he needed Pellaeon to behave differently, Thrawn wouldn't have any trouble just outright telling him he needed improvement and how he was expected to go about it. Was this a good thing then? Preparation for a larger strategy? Had he done something, perhaps, that made Thrawn feel the need to keep a closer eye on him? Pellaeon opened his mouth to ask, dragged his eyes to meet his superior's – 

“No, you're not in trouble,” Thrawn replied. His tone was soothing, but the look on his pale blue face showed that the Grand Admiral was clearly entertained by his subordinate’s second-guessing, and seemingly pleased with himself for reasoning out the thoughts behind the frown. Pellaeon resisted the urge to react to the look on his superior’s face by sighing in frustration or rolling his eyes in the manner his nephews had often done to his siblings when the boys were teenagers. How in Vader's name did the man always know what he was thinking? Did his species – whatever it was – have the ability to read the minds of others? As Thrawn continued, Pellaeon resolved that one day, he would know the answer to that question. “Your performance has been more than adequate, Captain, which is why I am choosing to invest more time in coaching and preparing you.”

“Preparing me for what?” Pellaeon asked. Though he was still a little annoyed with Thrawn for his amusement at his second-in-command's discomfort and uncertainty with this new arrangement, it was impossible to suppress his interest in hearing where the Grand Admiral was going with this.

Thrawn leaned back in his seat, and the amusement faded out to be replaced with a more serious expression that caught Pellaeon’s attention and held it firm. “In the short-term, Captain, it is my opinion that you are long overdue for a promotion.” The small smile returned as Pellaeon's eyes widened, a natural and honest response to what was – to him – a surprising and welcome statement. It was true, yes, but he had scarcely ever hoped for such a thing after the treatment of his previous commanding officers. “In the long term...”

He trailed off, glanced down at his hands, and then back up at Pellaeon. There was a strange tightness in his face that Pellaeon had only rarely seen. “In the long run, I feel it is best we prepare for anything our enemies may throw at us.” As though admitting to his own mental or emotional discomfort, or that he was somehow unable to look Pellaeon in the eye at the moment, Thrawn looked down at the table. His right hand lifted slightly toward his chest and then stilled, as though he had subconsciously begun to reach for something and then stopped himself. Pellaeon noted the gesture, the accompanying tightening of Thrawn's jaw, and wisely didn't comment on it. Even a few weeks after Rukh's treacherous attempt on his life and aggressive therapy with the ship's psychiatrist, the Grand Admiral still occasionally showed some of the symptoms of PTSD Pellaeon had been warned were possible by the medics, depending on Thrawn’s psychological makeup. It was a sometimes jarring reminder that his brilliant and unequaled commander was just as mortal as he was, and just as capable of making mistakes and miscalcuations.

After a handful of seconds, the episode passed, and Pellaeon could see Thrawn mentally working to drag himself out of the memory and regain control over his mind and body. Thrawn looked up to meet Pellaeon's patient gaze, and the silent appreciation of the captain's tolerance in regards to this ongoing problem was plain as the nose on his face. “It seems to me that it would be a good idea for me to begin training a successor,” he finished, voice tense but controlled. 

So this was in part, at least, about what had happened at Bilbringi, and the instability and severe drop in morale that his death would have caused. No one in the Empire would have been able to fill Thrawn’s shoes in the event of his death. There was no one left in command with that kind of tactical ability. Wanting to train a successor was understandable, but... “Sir, if I may ask – why me?” he asked with all the hesitation of an officer who didn’t want to question his commanding officer, but didn’t feel he had a choice. Could he ever hope to measure up to the brilliance of the man before him?

Pellaeon hadn’t been expecting an answer. Thrawn undoubtedly knew that Pellaeon wasn’t questioning his ability to make the decision, but rather seeking to know why it was made. He figured there was less than a fifty percent chance of getting a full and honest answer out of the grand admiral. “Why you?” Thrawn repeated softly after a moment, ignoring the eyebrow Pellaeon boldly raised to goad him forward with his answer. After a moment of studying his hands, he leaned back in his seat, and took a deep breath, finally seeming to be completely calm after what Pellaeon surmised had to have been a flashback. “It's quite a long list, Captain.”

Pellaeon leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “This is an important decision, Admiral. Just this once, I'd like to hear your entire reasoning before I wholeheartedly give you my support. It sounds to me right now that you have more faith in me being a good choice for this than I have.”

That response seemed to have surprised Thrawn. Pellaeon only questioned him when it was necessary or he genuinely wanted to learn why the grand admiral had come to a particular decision, and right now, he was certain that it was. The Grand Admiral studied him for a long moment before responding to him. “Very well, Captain. You're trustworthy, quick-minded for a human, and one of the most experienced officers in the Fleet. Frequently, you have demonstrate integrity and honor, and you are incredibly well-respected and well-loved by your subordinates and peers. You also have the raw talent for strategy – but I'll admit that does require a bit more honing.” 

Thrawn smiled again, a genuinely appreciative smile that Pellaeon had never seen on his face before. “You have also never hesitated to speak your mind to me; indeed, I have never had a junior officer argue with me so passionately with no care for his or her own pride and only the lives and ships at risk. The value you place on the lives of those under your command makes you ideal to lead them. You are quite blunt in your dealings and emotions, but diplomatic when the situation calls for it. More importantly, despite the differences in our species, you do not look down on me and you make an effort to meet my eyes, even when you're afraid of my reaction to something. That is an important quality in someone who will likely inherit an Empire full of diversity. My successor needs to be able to maintain what I am creating, and to do that, he will need to be able to work with a variety of beings. You can do that, and you can do it more respectfully than any other of your rank.”

Well. That was certainly a longer list of reasons and his positive qualities than he had expected when the Grand Admiral relented to his request. Pellaeon exhaled, surprised, overwhelmed by the glowing accolades, and not quite sure what to say in response.

Perhaps noting his inability to speak immediately following his reasoning, Thrawn leaned forward again and rested his clasped hands on the table. “Those are the chief reasons. I am not making a mistake in this. Does that satisfy you, Captain?”

It did. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that the captain also felt flattered. Such praise from a man who gave it rarely and only sincerely was a lot to take in, but that didn't mean Pellaeon couldn't feel pleased with himself for having managed to impress the Grand Admiral, Supreme Commander of the largest faction of the Imperial Fleet. “Yes, sir,” he answered, tone less shocked, but his face no less awed. “I understand, despite my obvious surprise at your analysis.”

“Perfectly understandable,” the Grand Admiral replied, “and not unexpected. In the midst of everything that's happened, I imagine a promotion was not on your mind at all; fortunately, the utter monotony of my lengthy time in sick bay left me with little else to do but consider the future.”

It was Pellaeon's turn to try to cover an amused look. By the time the medics were finally satisfied that Thrawn was fit to return to light duty (a vague term that had invoked quite a lot bit of vexation from Thrawn over its uselessness, followed by a thorough dressing down of the medics because it wasn't as though he had a particularly physically demanding job), he had been attempting to talk Pellaeon into at least bringing him a data pad so he could do something useful. Though it had upset Thrawn at the time and put quite a bit more work on himself, Pellaeon had chosen to side with the medics and their definition of rest (which hadn’t matched up to Thrawn’s at the time, much to his exasperation), and had refused to smuggle in anything that might have interfered with it. Deciding that, despite the large amount of painkillers in his body, Thrawn might attempt to override his or the Chief Medic's orders, Pellaeon reminded everyone who might come into contact with him in sick bay that by his orders – the orders of the Acting Supreme Commander – no one was to cave in to these requests. He'd even gone so far as to order the stormtroopers on guard to search all visitors before permitting them entry once he'd been informed that the bored man had attempted to persuade his orderlies into disobeying Pellaeon's direct orders. Thrawn had been condemned to watching bad shows on the Holonet and looking at art to entertain himself for the duration of his time in sick bay.

Lying still and resting had been trying for a man of action such as Thrawn, as had the half-days of duty that had followed. It had only been in the last two weeks that he had been permitted to fully resume all his duties and his regular schedule. “Then it's agreed that you had plenty of time to think everything over,” the captain replied as innocently and diplomatically as he could manage without sounding over-the-top about it. 

It wasn't as though Thrawn had gone completely without news or company. Pellaeon had been down to check on him, to ask advice, or to give his superior the rare update on their situation more than once – usually two to three times a day at first – when Thrawn was awake and still high on painkillers (and, therefore, in a good mood), and had often been talked into staying for a bit to keep him company. Toward the end of his stay in sick bay, Pellaeon had avoided going down any more than necessary. Even Grand Admirals, it seemed, could become quite grumpy and menacing when in pain and trapped in sick bay by the will and good intentions of his junior officers, and Thrawn was _terrifying_ when he was angry. 

Thrawn scowled at the reminder of just who it was that had been responsible for so strictly enforcing the rules and wishes of the medics, but the expression didn't have any bite or threat to it. It faded quickly. “Yet another example of your willingness to stand up to me,” he said, flashing Pellaeon a quick smile that the captain almost didn’t catch. That seemed to be that. Thrawn stood and so Pellaeon stood as well. 

“Come,” Thrawn ordered. “We may as well get started.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite being almost afraid of Thrawn's reaction to the mess he'd gotten himself into, Pellaeon lifted his eyes to meet the Grand Admiral's. There was ire in those red eyes, but it wasn't directed at him. He was gagged, but he and Thrawn could read each other well enough by now to communicate without talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 05/23/2015: I finally got around to reading more of the reader's companion stuff like _The Essential Guide to Warfare_ and _Crisis of Faith_ so I've edited this just a bit for the political stuff going on that I now have a better grasp of.

Pellaeon left his second private meeting with Thrawn feeling rather stunned. His former superiors had held him back for years due to his sexual proclivities, which were deemed unbecoming for an officer of the Imperial Fleet. The Grand Admiral doubtless knew his record, but it didn't seem to bother him; after all, it had been years since he had stolen away on leave with a lover.

Finished with his duties for the day and ready to sleep, Pellaeon had been on his way back to his quarters when something moving in the shadows of the service corridor that led to the senior officers' quarters caught his attention. That was suspicious – the techs and maintenance staff were never, ever that quiet. Pellaeon fumbled for his comlink to report the activity to Commander Quenton, who currently had command of the bridge. He kept his voice low, ordered him to put extra stormtroopers on guard around the Grand Admiral, and left the line open as he moved forward as silently as possible. If something was here to sabotage _his_ ship, Pellaeon wanted to know about it. There was no time to wait for backup when thousands of lives hung in the balance. Those were lives were his responsibility.

The shadow in the corner moved again as Pellaeon came closer. He froze and wished he was wearing a blaster. To muffle the noise from Quenton's end, Pellaeon covered the comlink with his hand and pressed up against the wall. Focused on the noise in front of him, Pellaeon didn't notice someone creeping up on him from behind until there was a knife to his throat and a hand over his mouth. The hand over his mouth was connected to a gray-skinned forearm that looked unfortunately familiar; the sight made his blood run cold. 

There were Noghri on his ship, and he could only hope the extra stormtroopers got to the grand admiral in time.

Before he could tap his comlink to signal an emergency, the Noghri that had lured him out of sight of the main corridor stepped forward to take the comlink from Pellaeon. It was carefully set down on the ground, still turned on. He gestured for Pellaeon to be silent or else, and then the Noghri at his back was moving him forward, the blade at his neck exchanged for a blaster pointed at his spinal cord.

It was short walk from there to the service turbolift. They brought him into it, but as he was nudged forward his captor misjudged the step just enough for Pellaeon to brush his hand over one of his code cylinders without the movement being glaringly obvious. After Bilbringi, Intelligence Tech Specialist Lieutenant Hanji Zoe had made a special modification to the code cylinders of all command staff, allowing them to be able to send out a distress code by tapping a specific part of it. He was able to tap it once to set off a silent alert that the bridge would pick up on instantly when he attempted to right himself – hypothetically, anyway. No one had needed to use theirs yet outside of the extensive testing she had argued for, and none of them had been tested with any distance between the ship and the cylinder. If he was taken off the ship, there was no telling if he would ever be found unless that’s what the Noghri wanted.

Pellaeon was pulled upright, his hands restrained behind his back, and shoved into a seat as the turbolift began to move. Though he glared daggers at his captors, there was nothing he dared to try with the knife back at his throat and multiple blasters pointed at his head. He forced himself to stay calm and try to think his way through this. If they had wanted to kill him, Pellaeon would be dead already and his assassins long gone. This had to go beyond that. His mind kept returning the idea that, whatever it was, it had to be something bigger than revenge on himself or Thrawn, something where taking a hostage would be advantageous. If the Noghri had just wanted vengeance they would have killed the grand admiral and/or himself and then fled the ship (or died trying, as Rukh had. Pellaeon had been comforted to know the traitorous and irritating creature had been killed). By the time they had reached the hangar bay and snuck aboard their ship – and how had they even managed to land with their usual check-in procedures for supply shuttles even more strict after Skywalker and Jade aided Karrde’s escape? –the alert sirens had begun blaring. Their determination to take off with their very puzzled and irritated captive gave the captain the hint he needed to figure out just what the Noghri might intend to do with him.

They wanted restitution of some kind.

It absolutely had to be restitution.

The Empire had more or less intentionally destroyed their world at Vader's command, and kept it that way to prolong the debt and use of the Noghri commandos. Thrawn had followed at least that far in Lord Vader's ominous footsteps instead of opting to intentionally fix their world and earn their everlasting servitude that way. Thrawn had instead continued to send the sons of Honoghr to die in place of human soldiers. There was likely more to the story than that – Thrawn had an exasperating habit of playing all his cards close to his chest until the last minute – but Pellaeon had no idea what the rest of the story was, despite his position as Thrawn's second-in-command. Who knew what his reasons could possibly have been?

Not him, though it seemed he was to have plenty of time to contemplate the possibilities. Escape wasn't an option, not with so many Noghri suddenly surrounding him as he was restrained in a seat and dragged out on the smaller ship away from the safety of the _Chimaera_ and into the uncaring vacuum of space. There was nowhere to run out here, not with a ship full of trained killers keeping their weapons trained on him at all times. Pellaeon had to hope that Thrawn would come up with a solution to the situation that didn't involve his death, the death of Thrawn, Pellaeon being turned over to the Rebels, or Thrawn handing out money they didn't have for his ransom. On his own for now, and being mostly ignored by his captors, Pellaeon dwelled on the thought long after they entered hyperspace and left the _Chimaera_ behind them.

– – –

Summoned from his private command room by an urgent message from Pellaeon's first officer, Commander Quenton, Thrawn crossed through the doors into the bridge just as the sirens that signaled an intruder began wailing. It seemed the situation had quickly escalated from Quenton's original report. The commander saw him, and immediately moved from his position to meet Thrawn in the aft bridge. The look on his face was gravely serious as he led him off as far away from the crew as they could get without leaving the bridge.

“Report, Commander,” Thrawn ordered in a hushed voice after taking in Quenton's nervousness, casting his eyes around the bridge to look for the captain. If there was an emergency, surely Pellaeon would have immediately reported straight back to the bridge.

Quenton took a deep breath to steady himself before he answered. “Admiral,” he began, his tone utterly grave, “I believe someone has boarded the ship with the intention of harming or capturing Captain Pellaeon.”

Thrawn's eyebrows shot up at the news: no wonder Quenton had refused to say the need for the urgency over the comm. “I see,” he replied as evenly as possible. That certainly explained the younger man's urgency and the tension that hung thick in the air of the bridge amongst the crew – palpable even in the aft bridge, well away from the majority of his men. “Why do you think this?”

“He had been on his way to his quarters for the night when he notified me of suspicious noises and shadows off the service corridor near his quarters. Captain Pellaeon stayed on the comlink as he tried to investigate – instead of waiting for backup, sir, on the off-chance lives were at risk – before his comlink went silent. It was still on, but he wasn't responding, so I sent an additional squad of stormtroopers to investigate, just before his altered code cylinder began broadcasting an alert to the bridge.” Quenton stopped and took a deep breath. 

This wasn't sounding good at all. If the worst had happened – 

Composed again, Quenton continued, “The stormtroopers found his comlink, Admiral, on the ground outside the service turbolift. He is not in his quarters, and the last person to see him was an Intelligence officer, who says that they chatted in the main turbolift, but he hadn't seen him since the captain got off on his floor. Additionally, all security holos of that area have been isolated from the system and were simply looping every eight hours – on time with the shift changes. Security and Engineering are working on that now.”

This was definitely not good. “Do we know which of the cargo ships in our hangar bays the most likely candidates for intruders are?”

“Yes, sir,” Quenton nodded. “Stormtroopers have already been posted around the nearest possibilities on the off-chance this is merely an attempt at abduction. I have every available security and stormtrooper squad not needed to guard vital points searching the ship, including Intelligence. I also took the liberty of locking down the turbolifts to inhibit their movement, if they haven't already gotten where they wish to go.”

Thrawn frowned thoughtfully as he thought through it. They had yet to identify the intruders, it seemed, which meant that trying to predict exactly what they would do was out of the question. There were any number of people who might want to kidnap his second-in-command for one reason or another, but only a few of those people were likely to try to do it right out from under his nose aboard the _Chimaera_. Of those groups, Thrawn could narrow it down to four incredibly likely possibilities. Able to plan now to stop any of them from getting too far, Thrawn had just opened his mouth to give an order when the officer at the shuttle station ahead of them stiffened.

“Admiral!” she called. “One of our supply shuttles has launched without permission from the aft hangar bay! The deck officer was found with a knife in his throat, but still breathing.” The young woman made a face at the news, though she quickly recovered herself.

Thrawn turned to the young Ensign seated at the scanning station. Though he was feeling tense, he kept his voice as calm as he issued orders. “Scan that ship – I want to know how many lifeforms are on board and what they are. Helm, get us moving after it. Tractor beams, power up, and draw them in as soon as you have a lock.”

There was a tense silence for just over a minute after his orders were given as his crew worked. The _Chimaera_ was moving after it, but there was no way they were going to catch up to something that small and fast when there had been a delay in reporting the escape. “Admiral,” the officer at the scanning station said gravely, “I've got a reading on the lifeforms on that ship.” This particular young man was typically unflappable, and controlled himself well, even in battle situations. The Ensign’s tone, that undercurrent of fear, made Thrawn turn and face him to hear the rest of the news. A good look at the young man's face revealed his tension in the tight set of his jaw and the lines around his eyes, and did nothing for the way his stomach tensed in horror at the man’s next words, though he mostly managed to hide his own reaction to the news from the crew. “There are nine beings on board, sir. One human... and eight Noghri.”

Noghri. Thrawn took a deep breath in, let it out in a quick huff. Former Noghri commandos had slipped on board, kidnapped his second-in-command, and were near to making a quick getaway.

Perhaps sensing his tension, Commander Quenton turned to the crew pit. “Lieutenant Mithel, tractor beam status?” Quenton called.

“Tractor beam is non-responsive, Commander,” he reported grimly from his position over the shoulder of the Ensign on duty at the station. “We're in range, and it acknowledges that, but it's not responding to commands. We're working to bypass the system error.”

“What exactly is the problem?” Quenton demanded. His eyes flicked to meet the Grand Admiral's as Thrawn moved closer.

The lieutenant shook his head. He looked up from the crew pit and gave them both an honestly frustrated and confused look. “There's a break in the system somewhere, as best as I can tell. It's almost acting as though someone tried to shut it off at the actual tractor beam, but was interrupted before they could power down the whole system.”

The commander gave the lieutenant a strange look. “They'd have to have a pretty high clearance code to get through there, are you –”

“Engineering, get a team down there and get it fixed,” Thrawn cut in sharply. If they didn't have it up and running by the time that shuttle had enough speed and a route calculated for their jump, they would not be rescuing the captain immediately. It was easy enough to figure out where they were headed, but Thrawn had no desire to go back there if they could avoid it.

It seemed he wasn't going to have a choice. With a flicker of motion, the ship entered hyperspace, and they were gone. “Stand down from alert, Commander,” Thrawn instructed, feeling the cold anger twisting in his stomach as he stared out the viewport at the spot the ship had last been seen. He turned to head back down the command walkway. “Navigation, plot a course for Honoghr. Communications, inform the deck officer on duty in the forward hangar bay that none of the supply shuttles will be permitted to leave. They'll accompany us until we have answers. All crews are to stay locked down aboard their ships. Commander?” he said, and turned to look at him as the sirens and lights shut off.

“Yes, Admiral?”

Thrawn drew closer to him and lowered his voice. “Send a message to the _Death's Head_ , _Judicator_ , and _Relentless_. They're to rendezvous with us here immediately. When they arrive, I wish to speak with each of them, on board, in my command room. We'll need a plan of action before we get underway.”

“You think they're taking him to their own planet?” Quenton asked softly.

“We can hardly destroy it in retaliation if he's on it, Commander,” Thrawn murmured. They had more questions than answers. Why now? Why hadn't they made an attempt on his life instead of kidnapping Pellaeon? What, exactly, did they think they had to gain? More importantly, they needed to know how this had happened. Whoever had slacked off or cooperated with the enemy was going to suffer for a very long time for this.

A glance down at the displays on his command chair as he passed showed they were still picking up the captain's beacon. Good. Maybe it would give Intelligence something to work with. “Commander, you have the bridge. If you need me, I'll be speaking with Commander Smith.”

The commander acknowledged, and Thrawn stepped into the turbolift. For the Noghri to get onto the ship in the first place, they must have received help. For them to take out the tractor beam at the source – if that was indeed what had happened – the Noghri would have had to have high-ranking help. That meant this was a job for Intelligence. Their Security people were good, but none of the other Intelligence or Security officer in any of the Imperial factions were as efficient as Commander Erwin Smith. If anybody could get the facts together as quickly as possible, it would be him.

– – –

His code cylinders had been taken from him as soon as the Noghri had pinpointed the source of the stray transmission coming from their ship fairly soon after they had entered hyperspace. Pellaeon could only hope the transmitter hidden inside it had lasted long enough to give his crew the bearing they would need to follow them to wherever it was he was being taken. Though hopeful it wouldn’t be to their own homeworld, there seemed to be no way he was getting an answer before their arrival. The Noghri who held him captive would not talk to him, punished him harshly for any attempt at speaking, and handled him roughly whenever they were forced to make physical contact. They let him up and out of his restraints once or twice to relieve himself, and allowed Pellaeon very little of anything, even water, over the two day trip. By the time they arrived, he was starving, dehydrated, and highly annoyed.

On Honoghr, the treatment was no better. Being on a planet full of the little gray-skinned assassins had been nerve-wracking enough when the Noghri were blindly following Thrawn's leadership and completely loyal to their alien overlord; now, the control the Empire used to have was gone, and only enmity and mistrust for the Imperials were left in its place. Pellaeon had certainly known how they were being deceived, and had willingly taken part in the deception against the Noghri people. If he was lucky, they would either simply kill him or just leave him locked up and whole for Thrawn as a bargaining chip. If he was unlucky, well... Thrawn had done his part to familiarize his second-in-command with the ways of their most useful tool. He could only hope he wouldn't be tried, judged, and punished by the Noghri's standards.

When the shuttle landed in Nystao he was freed from his seat restraints. The wrist restraints were put back on him, hands behind his back, and he was gagged so he couldn't speak. Weapons were put away: there was no need for them now, as Pellaeon absolutely could not fight off a whole planet of the creatures. They didn't handle him roughly as he was led down the shuttle ramp, but they weren't exactly gentle with him either. At his age, being confined to a seat for large amounts of time did a number on his back, and he moved slowly and stiffly, which only encouraged his captors to tug him along none too gently. He had expected to be taken to the Grand Duhka which housed the Common Room of Honoghr, a larger version of the smaller clan duhkas which were at the center of each village. Thrawn had often held audiences with the clan dynasts here, and Pellaeon had been dragged along to one or two of those.

Instead of taking him there for trial and either torture or death, much to his great relief, Pellaeon was taken straight into the spaceport's communications center. Pellaeon wondered if he had been correct in his guess that their demand would be restitution. If Thrawn had gotten after them relatively soon, then it wouldn't take the _Chimaera_ long to show up. If he hadn't, if he decided not to negotiate, or if the Noghri had done worse things to his ship besides knock out the tractor beams... 

Trying not to think about that or any other unpleasant possibility that may have befallen his commander or his crew, Pellaeon tried to pick up anything he could from their conversation. The Noghri were saying nothing in Basic, and the few words he did know made no sense without more context. It seemed the Noghri were doing everything in their power to ignore his existence aside from preventing his escape, and only looked at him to move him along or to cast the occasional glare at him.

Pellaeon didn't hear a word of Basic until the _Chimaera_ came out of hyperspace with at least a dozen other support ships and three other Star Destroyers that he suspected were the backbone of their own task force: the _Death's Head_ , _Judicator_ , and _Stormhawk_. It was impressive, given the short amount of time Thrawn would have had to assemble more ships.

One of the dynasts answered the hail from the Grand Admiral when it came. Despite all of Thrawn's mostly successful attempts to familiarize him with the Noghri ways, the names of most of the dynasts hadn't stuck with him. He did recognize Dynast Ir'khaim thanks to the fiasco with Khabarakh, but beyond that he recognized none of the Noghri faces surrounding him. There was one face, and only one face he did want to see, but the Noghri kept him completely out of sight of the hologram pod for a long time. At this distance he could barely hear the conversation, as much as he was straining his ears to listen. There was no way he could get closer either, not with the sheer number of trained assassins between himself and the hologram pod. When the dynasts finished speaking to the Grand Admiral with a tone that chilled Pellaeon to the core, one of them gestured, and Pellaeon's guards moved him forward where Thrawn would be able to see the holo of him .

Despite being almost afraid of Thrawn's reaction to the mess he'd gotten himself into, Pellaeon lifted his eyes to meet the Grand Admiral's. There was ire in those red eyes, but it wasn't directed at him. He was gagged, but he and Thrawn could read each other well enough by now to communicate at least a little without talking. That was one of the benefits of seeing someone every day, and he hoped it was something that the Noghri hadn’t been able to plan for. It was doubtful the Noghri knew that, or they never would have given them the chance to look at each other directly.

Doing the best he could to convey his current state given the restrictions placed on him, Pellaeon nodded slightly to show he was okay when the Grand Admiral's jaw tightened in a way that even Pellaeon barely noticed and his glowing red eyes narrowed slightly in concern. He had been worried, which Pellaeon supposed meant he wasn't going to leave him here to die painfully or be handed over to the Rebels for interrogation. He gave Thrawn the most apologetic look he could muster while gagged, feeling rather responsible for this. It was going to push their campaign completely off schedule, to say nothing of the potential costs of the outcome of this situation. Thrawn's eyes held forgiveness in them, and Pellaeon relaxed for a moment. Just as Thrawn opened his mouth to speak to him, the Noghri pulled him away. Anger filled him, the look in his eyes one of rage and frustration and a little bit of fear as he was tugged away from the hologram pod.

He kept eye contact with the Grand Admiral for as long as he could, pleased to see the look promising cold vengeance in his eyes as he spoke harshly to the clan dynasts. That was a sight he held on to as he was escorted to a cold, bare cell beneath the spaceport and left alone with nothing but his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* I used "sexual proclivities" in a fanfic and I just keep giggling.
> 
> Also, if you haven't read _Tattoine Ghost_ I really recommend it, because Thrawn doing dodge rolls in stormtrooper armor and just smacking people around with an assault rifle to the face is just really, really fun to read. I have a download link somewhere, if you want it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a second of hesitation, Hanji answered him. Her voice was low, still serious, and it felt to Erwin like she was choosing her words very carefully. “We haven't picked up any clear sign of it yet, but if they do have shielded smuggler compartments on this ship, they could have hidden the Noghri there and then let them out when the coast was clear. But since we couldn't find the three Humans reported to be aboard here...”
> 
> “That means we likely have Human traitors on board.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to those unfamiliar with Attack on Titan: Mike Zakarius has a superior sense of smell. He's basically a blood hound, and in canon he can smell titans coming from at least one mile away. I wanted to keep that, maybe he's descended from a Human and near-Human marriage where the near-Human race had a fucking fantastic sense of smell. Erwin and the Survey Corps all know about it in canon, but I feel like here Erwin and Thrawn would play that card close to their chests.
> 
> Edit 05/23/2015: I finally got around to reading more of the reader's companion stuff like _The Essential Guide to Warfare_ and _Crisis of Faith_ so I've edited this just a bit for the political stuff going on that I now have a better grasp of.

With every other high-ranking officer's attention focused on the impromptu blockade that Thrawn and Captain Harbid were busy positioning around Honoghr, it fell to Erwin to sort out the details behind what Mike was understating as “The Incident”. When the Grand Admiral had come to see him, the first thing they had done was strip all of Pellaeon's access codes from the Imperial computers. On the off-chance the Noghri tried to give the code cylinders to the Rebellion, they would be unusable. 

The second thing he had done was to send Mike down to the hangar bays to see if his nose could sniff out which shuttle the traitors had used to get on board. It definitely wasn’t protocol or textbook Imperial procedure, but Mike’s noise was absolutely legendary. Some considered it to be a little creepy that Mike Zakarius could sniff out most things, but Erwin generally found it to be a useful trait, if a little strange. Noghri held a particular smell that even Humans without the kind of sensory abilities Mike possessed could recognize, and it was nothing for Mike to track down the one shuttle in the portside aft hangar bay that reeked of the creatures and the captain’s particular brand of aftershave. From there it had been easy enough to get Hanji's tech squad down there to inspect the suspected shuttle. There were no crewmen aboard when they found it. That was another suspicious thing, as all crews had been locked into their craft and weren't permitted to leave, per the Grand Admiral's orders immediate following the escape of the Noghri shuttle. The hangar bay had been crawling with guards by then, so they figured the crew must have escaped before the Noghri put their plan into effect. The scanning team had determined fairly quickly that there were Noghri skin cells on the ship, and Mike was relieved to have science on his side. This was one instance where he didn’t want to be wrong. The more information they had, the better.

It was also easy to determine how they had left the shuttle – there was a strange hole cut out in the middle of the cargo bay and into the deck below. This trick had been used by Skywalker and Jade during their rescue of Talon Karrde, and so it was something Intelligence knew to look for now. Whether or not the cut had been made by a lightsaber or something similar was information only the Engineering lab could them now. A sample had been sent up and marked as urgent, and Engineering assured their commanders that they were doing their level best to determine the device used to make the cut.

Aside from those few, clear cut clues, Hanji was completely stumped. In all the time Erwin had known her, he had only seen her completely stupefied like this a handful of times. It was difficult to be irritated with her when she was so angry with herself for not having this all immediately figured out. She had seemed to be getting pretty upset when she last checked in, so Erwin left Mike to monitor the Grand Admiral's discussion with the dynasts of Honoghr and headed down to the hangar bay to get a more direct update and see if he could do anything to ease her frustration. He found her in the cockpit, sitting in the pilot's seat and going through the flight logs yet again. That she didn't stand when he entered surprised him. The news wasn't good then, if she was too frustrated to follow the strict military etiquette Thrawn expected from all of his people when they were on duty.

“We've been at this for three hours, sir,” she reported with a heavy sigh. “We were able to validate the back trail with correlating and non-damning surveillance from the ports this shuttle hit before coming to us. No Noghri have come or gone from this ship in months, according to video feeds and logs. We’ll need more time to find any traces of tampering in the official records, and in these. I had Lieutenant Berner go through the cargo bay logs, and they say the ship was scanned for lifeforms according to our current stringent security measures. The number of crew were also verified by flight deck personnel and their IDs checked in person before the unloading began; again, exactly according to procedure. There were three humans on board who are not here now, and we have no idea where they could have hidden the Noghri.” Hanji waved her hand toward the corridor. “There's no sign of a secret compartment and the lieutenant and I have found no incongruities between the hangar bay records and the ship's.”

Hanji sighed and rested her elbow on the displays in front of her and her head in her hand as she twisted in the seat to sit sideways and then moved so the seat swiveled back and forth. It was hardly the way an officer of the Empire should sit, but Erwin was willing to let it slide if it meant Hanji would be comfortable enough to come up with a solution. That didn't mean it would do for him to remain standing while a junior officer and his most likely successor sat around looking relaxed. Erwin sat down in the co-pilot's seat as she continued, just on the off-chance the grand admiral were to enter. “We do know which ship they left in, so Mobl- Lieutenant Berner is comparing our records of this ship to that of the other ship.”

He ignored the slip-up. Hanji and Moblit's relationship was probably the worst-kept secret on the _Chimaera_ , and if his superiors weren't intent on discouraging it, then neither was he. So few Imperials had cause to be happy these days. “Do you have any theories yet?” Erwin asked.

“A few,” Hanji answered. She stopped swiveling and slouching to sit up straight (though still sideways in the seat) and face him directly. The way her voice so quickly changed from casual and irritated to gravely serious and military-precise certain got all of Erwin's attention. “The one I think is most likely is the one I absolutely do not want to be true.”

It always seemed to be the worst case scenario with them. Imperials had the worst luck. Erwin had to suppress a sigh. “Which is...?”

After a second of hesitation, Hanji answered him. Her voice was low, still serious, and it felt to Erwin like she was choosing her words very carefully. “We haven't picked up any clear sign of it yet, but if they do have shielded smuggler compartments on this ship, they could have hidden the Noghri there and then let them out when the coast was clear. But since we couldn't find the three Humans reported to be aboard here...”

“That means we likely have Human traitors on board,” the commander finished for her, his voice a thoughtful murmur. With a crew of 37,000 to keep tabs on, weeding out the traitors would be difficult, though not impossible. They were Imperials, and Imperials didn't give up, especially in a dire situation like this. The real question was how big the traitors' nest was, and if the traitors would manage to disappear before they could doggedly dig them all out.

Hanji nodded in agreement. “I don't much like the idea, or our chances at finding them before they can do any harm to the ship or the Grand Admiral.”

“Neither do I, but it's as good a start as any.” It was more than they had to go off of beforehand. Erwin stood, and this time Hanji remembered her military etiquette and stood with her superior. “Let me know the very second you have something concrete,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged with a crisp salute. Erwin nodded in response, and let himself out of the freighter. 

Someone had managed to bypass all their security (not surprising – the Imperial Security Bureau was hardly as good at their jobs as Intelligence was), all their procedures, and all their Intel to pull this off. That they had managed to do so on the Grand Admiral's own flagship was an affront to the Fleet, an affront to Intelligence, and reflected poorly on himself, Captain Pellaeon, and Grand Admiral Thrawn. Fortunately, the number of things their culprit or culprits would have had to bypass to pulls this off narrowed down the list of suspects from 37,000 to just around 300. At least one senior officer had to be involved, which was disheartening, but no one else would have had the security clearance to access the captain's schedule or the tractor beams from the location at which they had been cut off. It was possibly someone from Intelligence, which he didn't want to think about, but he worked with spies, and spies – by their very nature – had to be untrustworthy. Erwin had a way to look and see who had accessed the captain's schedule recently, so he would start there.

Since Palpatine's rise to power it had been standard procedure for Intelligence to use the code cylinders issued by the various military branches to track who was where, and who was accessing which files. Erwin returned to his command office and inserted one of his own code cylinders to pull up the correct file. He skimmed the list of people who had accessed the file – nothing immediately stuck out. Then again, in his line of work, that wasn't unusual. Intelligence officers were used to having to dig around to find information to help put together a puzzle, and Erwin wasn't any different in that respect.

Comparing the list with the names of humans who had come and gone from the _Chimaera_ in the last two days got him nowhere. He examined the list for deleted data – there was no evidence of tampering that way. No one had covered their tracks here. That meant whoever it was, they were fully authorized to look at the information or had quite a bit of technical ability. On a hunch, he cross-checked his list for friendships or relationships with people who had come or gone from the ship recently. He got nothing again, and nothing when he checked it against the list of deck officers on duty since the attack.

Deciding that the hangar bay records might have been compromised, Erwin keyed in an order to one of Hanji's slicers to get started on a thorough examination of the hangar bay's records. That done, Erwin decided to go back over the list of people who had access to the captain again. Perhaps they hadn't accessed it, but simply asked the captain his plans for the day. It was doubtful he would be that forward with his schedule to a junior officer aside from his aides, however, so Erwin dismissed the possibility that it had been a random conversation. It occurred to him that someone could have threatened or ordered another person with authorization to access the file – a thorough interrogation of each of them should sort that out. He issued the order to Levi to have them all questioned thoroughly, save the Grand Admiral. Their leader had been through enough in the last month already.

Erwin's door chimed just as he finished issuing instructions, and he looked down at the screen connected to the security camera to confirm the visitor was authorized to enter. It was just Mike. Erwin pressed the button that would allow his entrance. The door slid open and securely locked itself behind his long-time friend and lover. The greeted each other with grim looks as Mike plopped down into a chair across from Erwin's desk and sighed. He slid into a slouch, a sure sign that he was getting exhausted and bothered too. 

“The Noghri definitely have him on Honoghr,” Mike reported. “They only let the Grand Admiral look at him for about thirty seconds, but Thrawn claims Pellaeon somehow indicated that he was unharmed. Captain Pellaeon is being kept in restraints, and gagged, so he wasn't allowed to speak.”

Then how – Ah. Erwin had never seen anyone as adept at non-verbal communication as the two of them were. “What was the outcome of the confrontation?”

“They had been about to actually discuss terms for a negotiation, but a New Republic ship jumped into the system.” Mike looked up at Erwin instead of where his fingers had been toying with the arm of the chair.

On the surface it sounded bad, but no alerts had been issued, and Mike seemed pretty relaxed about it, if exhausted. “Oh?” he prompted. “Just one?”

The taller man sat up and leaned forward. Erwin shifted a bit in his seat in response, leaning toward his best friend and subordinate in response. “It's one diplomatic ship only, carrying Leia Organa Solo, Luke Skywalker, and her twins, along with a handful of bodyguards.”

Now that was an interesting coincidence. Thrawn had thrown plenty of Noghri lives away trying to capture her and her twins for the thankfully late clone of the Jedi Master Jorus C'baoth. With C'baoth dead and Thrawn's life hanging in the balance, Pellaeon had rescinded the standing orders regarding her capture. Organa Solo would have no way to know that, and neither would the Noghri, as every single code and encrypt assigned to or known by a Noghri had been changed immediately after the Noghri's betrayal. “What's the Grand Admiral doing about it?”

Mike grinned just slightly. “He _oh so graciously_ let her land, and we're jamming long-range communications. The Fleet is holding blockade position around the planet and he reminded them that our gunners are incredibly skilled and he has no issues wasting the entire planet if they do anything stupid. Organa Solo seemed surprised by the situation though, and I think he's toying with the idea of allowing her mediate, if only to get to meet her.”

“That should be interesting to watch,” he replied dryly, and turned to his computer. “In the meantime, I have another task for you.” Erwin transferred the list of names to a data pad and handed it to Mike. “I want you in on these interrogations – the suspects are being rounded up by Levi's squad now. See if you can smell any sign of the Noghri on them or anything weird.”

Mike took it and skimmed through the list. “This is a pretty long list. Do you want me to be casual about it, or do you want them to know how much we suspect?”

“Casually, if you please. I don't want everybody to know about your nose, and there's no point in causing any more alarm than we need to.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, and stood. “Anything else?”

Erwin shook his head. “That's it for now. You're dismissed, Major.” 

Mike saluted, and left. With any luck, they would have their traitors in a matter of hours.

– – –

It was hours as best as he could reckon before someone finally brought him food and water. The food, whatever it was, was poorly textured and if the taste was bad, the aftertaste was worse. It said a lot for the situation, Pellaeon decided, that he was hungry enough to choke it down. The Noghri left him alone long enough after that for the captain to doze off in his detention cell. The hiss of his solid cell door sliding open woke him and Pellaeon sat up to see Organa Solo standing in the door. Was he going to be handed over to the Rebellion? What happened to the blockade? Had the Noghri already joined the New Republic as an official member world, with all the rights to military protection such a thing implied?

“Councilor,” he greeted once she had talked the Noghri guards outside into staying out there. At least his voice wasn’t shaking. He’d been concerned about that.

“Captain,” she returned with a cordial nod. “May I sit with you?”

Enemy or not, it would be rude to deny a new mother a seat – and he wasn't exactly in a position to refuse. “Not at all,” he returned politely. Pellaeon studied her face as she sat at the opposite end of the cold metal slab that one could generously label a bed. Did she blame him or hate him for the Empire's attempts to kidnap her and her twins? There was a way to find out, he supposed. There couldn't be in harming in probing the subject. What were they going to do? Lock him up? “How are your children?”

She gave him a tight smile. There was no hatred there, but she was definitely on her guard at the mention of the babies. “They're doing well, thank you, and growing like weeds already.” Organa Solo studied his face in return for a moment, and smoothly changed the topic. “I've come to explain the situation to you, as I understand your captors haven't exactly been forthcoming.”

Better her than one of those damn Noghri in here with him. Pellaeon had a million questions about the situation, but quickly prioritized them. There was one thing he needed to know that was more important than anything else. “What happened to the blockade?” he asked, primarily concerned for the safety of the Grand Admiral and the officers and crew in their combined charge.

“It's still in place,” she assured. “And unchallenged. I spoke directly with Grand Admiral Thrawn when my ship jumped into the system and he allowed us to land.”

That was a relief. Pellaeon shoulders sagged a little at the news as his body relaxed slightly. “What about your fleet? Are they coming to destroy us? Why are you here?”

She shook her head. “No. The Noghri have not yet petitioned for membership, and there's no way I could get a communication out to them right now with your superior officer jamming all long-range communications. This is between the Noghri and the Empire – I just came here on an unrelated errand.”

Whether it was true or not, it was awfully convenient timing. “Have the Noghri told you why they've taken me hostage?” Pellaeon wanted to know if his guess about restitution was correct, but he hoped the Grand Admiral wouldn't agree to such a stupid thing. 

Organa Solo nodded. “Yes. They tell me that they intend to hold you for leverage to force Thrawn into paying restitution for the damage intentionally done to Honoghr, the purposeful deception perpetrated by the Empire, and the deaths of their sons in a war that wasn't theirs to fight.”

The Noghri might as well just kill him. In no way could the Empire afford to pay out that much right now, with the Fleet still divided between the few remaining sector fleets that remained at the disposal of the Moffs and the two active fighting task forces Thrawn commanded. Being right was incredibly disappointing at times. Pellaeon was careful to keep the dismay off his face. There would have to be one hell of a benefit to agreeing to convince Thrawn to pay it. It also seemed a little strange to him that the Noghri would want their money. They were a violent people with a long and bloody history of clan warfare. Passing up the chance for revenge and death seemed out of character for their race. Had someone talked them into accepting a lesser option for their own agenda? 

“Is that all they've asked for?” he asked, careful not to betray his suspicions. Surely it couldn't just be money they were after, not a proud race like this.

“No,” Organa Solo shook her head. “They want the Empire to cease your attempts to kidnap me, my children, and my brother.”

They didn't know? Pellaeon raised an eyebrow. “I rescinded that order when the full scope of what had happened to C'baoth reached the _Chimaera_. There's no point in trying to kidnap you and wasting resources without an insane Jedi Master to keep pacified and under control,” Pellaeon pointed out. It was only years of long practice kept the bitterness out of his voice when mentioning C'baoth. “Those resources are better employed elsewhere, and as neither of us have anything personal against you or your family, it would be senseless to continue to pursue you.”

She frowned, as though she wanted to believe him but was erring on the side of caution. “That was the entire reason?”

There had been other, minor reasons, but none of them were anything he could get away with discussing. Right now, he needed to give her enough just enough to convince her to trust him, to lower their defenses here so he could escape. Thrawn would forgive him this conversation, but not if he kept going through it with a loose tongue. With no other recourse, Pellaeon nodded. “He had to be controlled somehow, and in instances where ysalamiri could not be used, another method had to be utilized.” 

The councilor nodded slowly. “I see,” she said. “That's good news, I suppose, provided you're telling the truth.”

Deciding to use one of Thrawn's favorite tactics to use when reasoning with Pellaeon, the captain lifted an eyebrow and looked at her mildly, as though that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard and was trying to be polite in his rebuke. “What reason do I have to lie to you, Councilor Organa Solo?” None, for now, at least. “The Noghri hold all the cards right now. I know this race well enough to know that if I'm caught in such a grievous lie, they might very well decide that killing me is restitution enough.”

She looked away, and Pellaeon decided that he'd won that one, and a slight change of topic was in order. He was dying to know why the Noghri had been expecting her and guarding her for a while now. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” he asked.

The councilor shook her head. “Not at all.”

He leaned forward a little, curious as to whether or not she would be forthright with him in return for his own honesty. “I'm rather interested in hearing what happened on Kashyyyk, and how the Noghri came to discover Lord Vader's betrayal and long-term deception.”

Intelligence hadn't even been able to piece it all together, and the puzzle had been bothering him. Thankfully, Organa Solo laid it all out for him – her deal with Khabarakh to let her meet his people, her demonstration of the chemicals within the decon droid, the fact that she was Lord Vader's daughter... Pellaeon shook his head in disbelief when she had finished. In hindsight, the mistakes both he and the Grand Admiral had made were very obvious. Thrawn, he knew, would be interested in hearing what exactly had gone wrong. No matter what happened to him, Pellaeon needed to get this report back to Thrawn. It could very well be the last thing he did as an officer of the Imperial Fleet.

The door slid open, and there was the elusive Khabarakh clan Khim'bar. He and the captain locked eyes for a moment, and then the former commando turned his attention to Organa Solo. “Grand Admiral Thrawn is requesting to speak with you, Lady Vader,” he said, and his eyes darted back to Pellaeon, who was determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction to the summons.

She rose gracefully. “I'll be there momentarily,” she said, and waited until Khabarakh bowed out of the room to turn to Pellaeon. Her smile, though polite and somewhat forced, was not unkind. “Try and get some sleep,” she suggested. “You've had a long day.”

He nodded, and bade her farewell, and settled in to try to get some rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who are reading this! I appreciate your existence. I actually wasn't expecting this to get any hits at all, so I'm pretty pleased with myself. Also about this chapter: I know that it's a lot of dialogue and no action right now, and I'm sorry. I'm setting up here for the first major plot point, which I think should start with the next chapter. I'm writing this all out by hand and then typing it up, so I've typing from one completely filled notebook and writing in another one and basically I don't remember what happens when anymore.
> 
> I also figured out some ships I'm going with here. I want to do a slow build up to Thrawn/Pellaeon for sure (but you won't see that for a few more chapters), and I'm leaning toward Mike/Levi and Armin/Jean and possibly a lady ship besides Yuri/Christa. I know I'm not focusing a lot on SnK right now, but that will change as plot happens.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi sighed, and lifted a hand to brush black bangs away from his eyes. “He flung Kirstein into the goddamn bulkhead wall.”
> 
> He what? Erwin’s eyes narrowed slightly. That was hardly cause for this much concern from Levi. Jaeger and Kirstein had been at each other’s throats since their first day at the Imperial Academy and had a rivalry so legendary it had followed them onto their assigned ship. “So?” he asked, and leaned backward a little. “They fight all the time. Just discipline them and be done with it.” Surely Levi had better things to do than keep him informed of petty fights. But then, Levi wouldn’t have been looking nervous in the corridor if this was something simple.
> 
> Levi leaned forward, close enough that their foreheads were practically touching, and whispered three words that sent a shiver down Erwin's back and put a tightness in his stomach that made him feel sick. “Without touching him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 05/23/2015: I finally got around to reading more of the reader's companion stuff like _The Essential Guide to Warfare_ and _Crisis of Faith_ so I've edited this just a bit for the political stuff going on that I now have a better grasp of.

It had taken all four-plus hours of the interrogations for Mike to determine that none of the suspects on Erwin's list had been anywhere near the Noghri. More digging revealed that none of them had even left the ship in the last two weeks. Hanji's slicer was still hard at work on the hanger bay's logs, and the shuttle was still being examined to figure out how the Noghri had stayed hidden from their sensors long enough to board the ship and leave the shuttle they had come in on. They couldn't even figure out who the crew of the shuttle were, and Erwin was beginning to suspect they would find the bodies stuffed someone unconventional and unpleasant whenever they finally began to stink up whatever section of the ship the kidnappers had stuff them into.

Giving only unproven theories to the Grand Admiral was not something Erwin was ever happy to do, but Thrawn had summoned him to his private command room for an update, and good guesses were all Erwin had to report. Presently, he stood at ease in front of the double display ring that circled the Grand Admiral's chair. He had related Hanji's hypothesis to his superior and given a verbal summary of his report, and now had nothing to do but wait as the Grand Admiral skimmed over the written version of Erwin's full report.

“And we have no other leads?” Thrawn asked softly – dangerously so, in Erwin's opinion. He knew that it was his neck on the line right now, but refused to show or give in to his fear that he was about to be executed. Like all of the other senior officers, Erwin sometimes had to remind himself firmly that Thrawn was not Lord Vader.

“No, sir, not yet,” Erwin replied. 

Thrawn's eyes glittered coldly, and his tone, though mild and polite, suddenly had an undercurrent of threat to it that Erwin didn't miss and which definitely made him rather nervous. “And what is being done to remedy that?”

Whatever the Grand Admiral wanted, at this point, was whatever Erwin would have his subordinates do. Erwin was starting to run out of ideas. Nothing added up here. He didn't voice that to Thrawn, though. “Major Zakarius is still trying to retrace their steps via scent, but the trail is beginning to go cold. The slicer is still working on the hangar bay computers – whatever encrypt they used to cover their tracks, he and Decrypt have never seen anything like it before. It's no known Rebellion, Old Republic, or Imperial code. They even checked it against our records of the Separatists and known droid encrypts. It's going to take time, unfortunately.” 

Thrawn's eyes narrowed at that, and Erwin thought it best to push on quickly. Both of them were well aware that time was a precious commodity they didn't have right now and neither of them needed a reminder. “Lieutenant Ackerman and his destabilization squad are questioning the full list of those that would have had access to anything the Noghri would have needed, as well as following up on their alibis. They've done half the list – no luck so far. I've issued a request for all officers to report any subordinates who were late or absent from duty in the three days prior to the attack as well as the day of, and I'm still waiting for everyone to report in.”

It definitely wasn't the best of news, and they both knew it, but if he was lucky Thrawn would decide that the commander was handling this well enough and let him live to continue doing his job. Erwin was just grateful Thrawn had little in common with Lord Vader: if they were more alike, Erwin would be dead by now. Though the Grand Admiral was clearly still angry, it was no longer directed at him; mostly, Thrawn just looked tired. It had been nearly 72 hours since the incident began at the start of ship's night, which meant the Grand Admiral probably hadn't slept much at all in at least three days. Erwin knew the feeling – the only sleep he had managed was an hour here and there on his office couch while waiting for reports to come in or finish being processed.

Though visible, the exhaustion certainly wasn't audible in his voice as Thrawn nodded thoughtfully and switched to a slightly related topic. “Have we been able to confirm that Organa Solo's visit is, in fact, merely a coincidence?”

If there was one thing Erwin could report with certainty, it was that. “Yes, sir,” he said confidently. “All of our sources confirm that she is officially here to offer the Noghri membership to the Rebellion. Though several Noghri have been spotted with her as guards, there is nothing to indicate this trip was planned to coincide with the kidnapping of our captain. According to our palace spies, this trip was to also include a drop off of some supplies on her way to a conference in the Outer Rim, but she arrived here earlier than anticipated.”

“The Noghri were expecting we would be finished before she arrived,” Thrawn murmured.

He didn't seem to want or be expecting a response, so Erwin didn't offer him one; instead, he silently waited on his superior officer to continue or dismiss him. After a rather short wait, Thrawn stirred again, and gave Erwin an evaluating look. "Do we have any information to indicate that the Council of Moffs is aware of the situation?"

"No, sir, we do not. If you like, I can request an update from Bastion."

Considering the mood the grand admiral was in, he almost expected a rebuke to come after his admittance. Though updates were regularly received from the capitol, he hadn't had time to go through them lately.

"Get it," Thrawn decided after a moment, seeming not to notice as Erwin relaxed slightly when no rebuke followed. Of course, Thrawn wouldn't do any harm to him over a negative answer: Erwin would be the only other person on board at the moment who would have the answers he needed. After having served under Lord Vader and his sycophantic senior officers for so long, it felt weird to know his honest answers would get him strangled for it if the information wasn't what his superior wanted to hear.

Thrawn, though, was different. He was able to keep his personal pride in check – even in defeat – and the example he set encouraged other officers to follow suit. It had taken his new crew a good long while to get used to his particular way of doing things, and some of the senior officers were still basically living in fear that Thrawn was going to turn around and strangle them. Captain Pellaeon, in particular, had argued frequently with the Grand Admiral at first. All that was in the past now, he reminded himself.

He would request the update immediately upon returning to his office. "Yes, sir."

Thrawn nodded slightly, and leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. “Thank you, Commander,” he replied. “You're dismissed.”

“Sir.” Erwin gave a curt half-bow with his head, and left.

Levi was waiting for Erwin when he stepped out into the corridor. His posture was military-perfect, except that his hands were fidgeting a little at his sides. Erwin noted the miniscule movement, noted the barely discernible tightness in Levi's usually unchanging expression, and came to the correct conclusion that something bad had happened – though it wasn't dire enough to interrupt his private meeting with the Grand Admiral over it. “Have you found something?” he murmured as Levi fell into step one pace to his left and one pace behind.

“No, it's worse than that,” Levi answered. His usually monotonous tone had a bit of an edge to it; worry – or was it fear? – clouded his tone. “It's Ensign Jaeger, sir. He's...” The lieutenant trailed off and shook his head as he glanced at all the passersby and gave Erwin a meaningful look.

So it was pretty bad. Erwin raised one well-groomed eyebrow, and led Levi to his office before prompting him again. “What happened?” he asked again, and his subordinate and friend sighed. 

Levi sat on the edge of Erwin's spotless desk, and Erwin lowered himself into his chair. In this position, they were at least at eye level, which made conversation with the tiny officer easier. “I told you, he's been acting weird as hell ever since his last shore leave. That brat's been grumpy as fuck, and all he'll say is that he's mad at his father and doesn't know why. Kid's twenty-three, Erwin. Shouldn't he be out of that phase?”

How could Erwin forget? It had been the sole reason he had initially been reluctant to assign Eren to the recon mission to Mount Tantiss. The young man had come back with fire in his face and sadness and anger in his green eyes. “Probably. What did he do?”

Levi sighed, and lifted a hand to brush black bangs away from his eyes. “He flung Kirstein into the goddamn bulkhead wall.”

He what? Erwin’s eyes narrowed slightly. That was hardly cause for this much concern from Levi. Jaeger and Kirstein had been at each other’s throats since their first day at the Imperial Academy and had a rivalry so legendary it had followed them onto their assigned ship. “So?” he asked, and leaned backward a little. “They fight all the time. Just discipline them and be done with it.” Surely Levi had better things to do than keep him informed of petty fights. But then, Levi wouldn’t have been looking nervous in the corridor if this was something simple.

Levi leaned forward, close enough that their foreheads were practically touching, and whispered three words that sent a shiver down Erwin's back and put a tightness in his stomach that made him feel sick. “Without touching him.” Levi pulled away to look Erwin straight in his horrified, wide blue eyes. “He threw him without touching him – used his hand to make the gesture like the Jedi Knights used to do. Eren just straight out flung him sideways. Kirstein's okay, but a little spooked. Eren collapsed to the floor afterward and Mikasa said that he claimed to not remember it at all when he woke up.”

The shock of it made Erwin lean back in his seat, numb and terrified. A strand of blonde hair slipped forward from under his uniform hat, and he hurriedly brushed it back into place. “Are you certain? How many saw it? Who? How many holorecorders, Levi?”

“Unfortunately, it happened in the mess hall nearest our section of the ship. A lot of crew saw it – probably more than can be silenced – but Mike and Hanji are doing their best to run damage control. I don't think you'll be able to keep this from the Grand Admiral. Everyone's still in shock, but that won't last for long, even with the brat confined to his quarters by Mikasa and Armin, and Jean in sick bay having his head checked to make sure Eren didn’t break his skull.”

Levi's voice was incredibly tense. Thrawn had so recently had them all chasing after Skywalker, his sister, and his niece and nephew that Erwin could easily figure out that Levi was worried about Eren. The boy was practically like a son to him. If Thrawn somehow decided that once again, having a pet Jedi was utterly essential to their quest for survival in destroying the Rebel Alliance...

On the other hand, if he didn't tell Thrawn and he found out from another source, there would be hell to pay – likely with his life. If he found out from a different person, in a way Erwin couldn’t control, there might be nothing he could do to protect the young Ensign. Additionally, it reminded Erwin of a rumor he had heard from time to time in his home system. Those who had believed in it, or repeated what they had heard or knew had disappeared without warning. His father, a professor at the Imperial Academy on Sina, had been suspicious of it all. If there was any possibility that this had something to do with the rumors of experiments on Maria to create Jedi – rumors he had only discussed with the Grand Admiral a few months earlier and had been ordered to keep completely confidential – then Erwin had to look into it. He needed answers. Thrawn was more aware of the earlier experiments than he was, as he had a much higher security clearance than Erwin, but Erwin knew enough to be suspicious and to have put together a plausible and logical hypothesis. Aware though he was that Thrawn hardly needed anything else on his plate right now, Erwin had a duty to his commander, to Eren, and to the memory of his beloved father, and that duty meant reporting the incident. If he played his cards right, he knew he might be able to manipulate the grand admiral into putting him in charge of looking into the possibility that Eren’s surprising abilities were related to the experiment he’d heard so much and yet so little about. 

He had to know if his father was right.

With a resigned sigh, he made his decision. “Fetch Jaeger and Kirstein, and bring them up to Grand Admiral Thrawn's private command room.” There was nowhere safer on the Chimaera to discuss this with Thrawn, and he sure as hell wasn't arrogant enough to insist Thrawn come to him. That was asking to be reprimanded. Erwin stood and headed for the door as Levi hopped off the desk. He caught up to Erwin in two quick steps to grab his elbow and spin him around.

“What if he hurts Eren or something?” Levi demanded. “We don't know what his new goals are for this campaign he's planning.”

Erwin understood his fears, but the only thing he could do about them was to inject himself into the investigation to protect Eren. He looked down at Levi and gave him his most serious look. That was enough to still Levi. “You mean worse than he will to all four of us if he learns about this from another source? If someone besides Intelligence beats us to telling him our business? If he learns about it and suspects we're trying to hide it from him? Worse than that? Worse than dead and beyond all hope?” Thrawn was a good leader, but Thrawn could also be terrifying. He'd executed more than one officer for making too many stupid mistakes.

It was a good point, and Levi knew it, but it didn't prevent the much shorter agent from trying and failing to stare Erwin down for another minute. Finally conceding defeat, Levi looked away, released Erwin’s elbow, and stepped out the door, presumably to follow his orders. Erwin followed after him, and went straight back up to report on this incredibly unexpected development.

– – –

Thrawn was just exiting his private command room when Erwin arrived. “Admiral,” he called as he picked up his pace. “Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm afraid this can't wait.”

Ahead, the Grand Admiral turned and waited. Those red eyes cast over Erwin's face as he brought himself to attention in front of Thrawn. His urgency must have shown clearly in the stiffness of his back and jaw despite the intentionally expressionless look on his face, because Thrawn only needed the one look before wordlessly turning and gesturing for Erwin to follow him back inside the command room. Erwin was tense and worried for Eren's safety now, thanks to Levi giving voice to his fears a few minutes prior. The turbolift ride to this section of the ship had given him some time alone to dwell on that more than he might have liked. The Grand Admiral quirked an eyebrow, and Erwin withdrew his data pad from its place on his belt, passed it over, and brought himself to stand at parade rest. 

On the data pad, already pulled up and waiting, was the security holo footage of the incident. Erwin had called it up on the turbolift ride, watched it, and spent the entire walk from the turbolift swearing internally. He was curious to see how Thrawn would react, if it would have the same surprise and emotional effect on an alien (near-Human though he was) as it did on himself. There was utter silence as the Grand Admiral watched the recording, reset it, and watched it again. It would be impossible to mistake what had happened or pass it off as something else, and Erwin knew that the slightly shorter man was well aware of that as he silently returned Erwin's data pad, which the Bureau of Operations Commander swiftly tucked away.

Thrawn's face was nearly unreadable, save for the way his lips compressed slightly. “I don't suppose he's from Maria?” Thrawn asked softly after a moment of studying Erwin’s face. 

“Both Ensigns Jaeger and Kirstein are,” Erwin confirmed. “We've had disciplinary issues with them before but nothing like this. Eren’s emotional and physical symptoms have matched what little we know about the Titan Project since his return from visiting family on Maria.”

“Where are the Ensigns involved?”

There was no need for him to answer. The doors slid open as Levi led Eren and Jean into the dimly lit room that would likely have the effect of making Thrawn's glowing red eyes appear more menacing to the young men. Erwin was right about that – though they snapped sharply to attention, Jean looked nervous and Eren... Eren looked terrified. His face was pale, green eyes red from crying, and he looked about as composed as a man about to be executed for treason. Still, Erwin had to give him credit as Eren managed to find the internal strength to hold himself together anyway.

“At ease,” Thrawn ordered. There seemed to be something approving in his eyes as all four of his subordinate officers smartly adjusted their stances. Erwin had expected him to start by asking one of the young men for their side of the story, but as usual, Thrawn had to prove his unpredictability by doing the unexpected. He turned his attention to Levi, doubtless having noticed the much shorter man in the recording.

“Lieutenant Ackerman, how many people witnessed the incident?” he asked, his perfectly modulated voice taking on a bit of curtness with the question. 

It was curtness Levi didn't miss. He looked back into (or rather, up at) that impassive face and those intimidating eyes with no fear or his usual indifference. It was a sure sign to Erwin that Levi was upset and trying to contain himself. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Grand Admiral's eyes flick to rest on Erwin's face, and he hoped the shadow from his hat was enough to conceal the concern that briefly flickered over his features.

“Two hundred twenty-seven, Admiral,” he answered sharply. 

“What containment measures did you take, Lieutenant?” he asked while watching Erwin force back a grimace about the number. Two hundred twenty-seven wasn't even one percent of the crew, but as someone who had spent his entire career in Intelligence, Erwin knew that was more than enough people to spread rumors through the entire ship in less than a day.

Levi's hands twitched just slightly at his back, if the shifting of his elbow was anything to go by. “Major Zakarius took control of that, sir, and his squad is handling damage control at the moment with Lieutenant Zoe to ensure nobody breathes a word of this without your explicit permission.”

Thrawn considered that, seemed to approve of it, and turned his full attention to Eren. “You are Ensign Jaeger, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Eren replied. There was pride in Levi's eyes when Eren's voice didn't tremble despite facing what the young man clearly thought was certain death.

“Tell me what happened, Ensign, as best as you can.” Thrawn's voice had a somewhat soothing quality to it now, perhaps in response to the increase in fear in the young man's eyes. It was the same tone Erwin had heard him use on other officers before, and even on the late clone of Master C’baoth. Usually, it worked to calm whoever was on the receiving end of it. This time was no exception; it worked enough to get Eren to speak.

Eren swallowed nervously, but complied with the order. “Ensign Kirstein and I were assisting with the search for the traitors. Lieutenant Ackerman assigned us to confirm that no other Noghri are on the _Chimaera_. He made a lewd comment regarding my sister, Ensign Ackerman, and I got angry, sir.”

Thrawn nodded when he paused. “Understandable. Continue, Ensign.”

After a quick, deep breath, Eren pressed on. “I wanted to hit him more than I usually do, but I was trying to rein myself in. I moved my hand, but I didn't touch him. The next thing I knew he was a good five meters away from me, pressed up against the bulkhead. I don’t remember how I did it, Admiral, but I’ve seen the security footage.”

Those menacing eyes clashed enough with Thrawn's pacifying tone of voice that it clearly made Jean even more nervous when those red eyes were trained on him. The blonde wet his lips nervously, a subconscious reaction that completely betrayed his emotions and nearly drew a frown from Erwin. He couldn't have agents in the field being so outwardly honest with their emotions at the first sign of trouble. Levi would have to work on that with Jean later. It was a weakness, and their enemies wouldn’t give them any mercy if they showed them. “Is this an accurate report of the events, Agent Kirstein?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Jean replied. He might have been nervous, but his voice was just as steady as and as military-crisp Eren's was.

“Is there anything you wish to add to Ensign Jaeger's account?”

Jean glanced to the floor before he caught himself and looked back up to meet Thrawn's gaze. “Yes, sir, there is.” Jean's eyes darted sideways to Eren for a moment, then back. “I've had a few minutes to consider what happened, and I don't think Ere– Ensign Jaeger was aware of his actions as they occurred. I also don't believe he knew he could even do that, judging by his shock as he realized what had happened before he fainted.”

Thrawn's eyes shifted back to Eren's, suddenly wide with shock that Jean was standing up for him to the Grand Admiral. “Were you unaware of these abilities up until this point?”

Eren nodded crisply. “Yes, sir. I've never done anything like that in my life – even when playing “Jedi” as a kid – until today, no matter how angry I've been.”

There was some confusion in Thrawn's eyes, possibly sorting out the “playing Jedi” phrase, and then it cleared. Sometimes it was very easy to remember that Thrawn was not human, though he looked close enough to it, as certain common experiences, idioms, and euphemisms that most humans knew were still occasionally confusing to him. The confusion cleared, and Thrawn tilted his head to the left just slightly and narrowed his eyes. “Have you suffered any emotional trauma recently?”

Even with what he knew of the project, that was a very strange question. Erwin and Levi exchanged a fast, confused glance, and Eren and Jean looked equally stumped. “The only thing that comes to mind is an argument I had with my father during my leave last month, but I wouldn't call it “traumatic”, Admiral. Just... slightly jarring.”

“An interesting choice of words, Ensign. Forgive me for prying into family affairs, but why do you describe it as such?”

Eren hesitated, and seemed to be trying to recall something that wouldn't come. On the off-chance the Ensign would try to hide something from them in the interest of self-preservation, Erwin watched the young man’s eyes as he thought. He glanced to the lower left, a sure sign of his attempt to remember something emotional. After a moment he shook his head slightly, and turn his eyes back to Grand Admiral Thrawn’s face as he gave up. “I'm sorry, Admiral, but I don't remember. Every time I try to recall what happened, I draw a blank.”

The Grand Admiral was clearly intrigued, but he also clearly believed Eren. “Thank you, Ensigns, that will be all for now. Return to your quarters and keep this matter and this conversation strictly confidential. Dismissed.”

Levi and Erwin had not been dismissed, so they waited as the two young men snapped to attention, gave a sharp salute, and promptly turned and exited the room. Thrawn waited until the double doors had slid shut behind them before turning to the commander and lieutenant and fixing them with a sharp and deadly serious stare. “This must be kept absolutely secret for now,” Thrawn instructed them coolly. “As interesting as digging deeper into Jaeger's mysterious and sudden Force-sensitivity will be, it will have to keep for now. I need everyone's attention focused on tracking down the traitors and recovering our captive captain. For now, keep Jaeger away from others, under continuous guard by people you trust, and one of the remaining ysalamiri with him in his quarters. Do I make myself clear?”

They snapped to attention and acknowledged, and the Grand Admiral dismissed them with a tired wave. Pushing Thrawn's obvious exhaustion out of his mind along with his own, Erwin led the way back down to his office and hoped Thrawn wouldn’t decide to dig up or clone another Jedi Master into working with them in exchange for Eren to do with as he or she pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. If you liked it, leave kudos and/or a comment! I live on your love. If you're reading this for the Thrawn/Pellaeon, I recommend you click on my username and go read the several smut fics I've posted. Make _**ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN**_ you head the warnings on Desvelado, as it's the kinkier one of the two by far.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Captain,” Thrawn greeted, relief just barely audible in his tone. “How are you feeling?”
> 
>  _Better than you look_ , he thought but didn't say aloud. The Rebels and Noghri didn't need to know that they'd gotten to Grand Admiral Thrawn by hijacking his second-in-command.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 05/23/2015: I finally got around to reading more of the reader's companion stuff like _The Essential Guide to Warfare_ and _Crisis of Faith_ so I've edited this just a bit for the political stuff going on that I now have a better grasp of.

Alone in his cell with his boots, hat, command cylinders, and data pad taken from him, the only method Pellaeon had to track the time was by the meals he was infrequently served and which Noghri brought them. Thrawn had spent a long time familiarizing him with the Noghri ways and he knew that they typically did not feed their prisoners. At his best estimate, he was being given one meal a day. At worst... well, he didn't really want to start wondering how long he had been trapped under the Nystao spaceport with only himself and an empty stomach for company. This sort of treatment was the one thing Lord Vader hadn't needed to teach the Noghri, or so Thrawn had informed him. They used very similar softening up techniques prior to interrogation to what Imperial Intelligence used. The Noghri were most likely trying to wear him down in preparation for questioning. In the absence of a good diet to keep his mind sharp, Pellaeon had been forcing himself to sleep as much as possible so he could keep his mind better focused when he was awake. Still, after at least a few days of boredom and isolation spent wondering if he'd ever see his ship again, he couldn't help but feel like imprisonment was starting to take its toll on him.

Pellaeon badly wanted to know what was happening, but Organa Solo hadn't returned since her initial visit and the guards that came to feed him and allow him to relieve himself – and once, had given him a change of clothes – wouldn't utter a word to him and still refused to let him talk. All of his attempts to gain information still ended in physical punishment. If he had to stay stuck in this monotonous cell much longer, Pellaeon was sure he would lose his damn mind. There was plenty of precedent of which he was aware to suggest that it was a possibility. Eventually. If the grand admiral wasn’t able to secure his release, it might be something he would have to deal with. Surely they had to be attempting a negotiation. It wouldn't take Thrawn this long to get him out of there otherwise. 

Of course, there was also the possibility, however small, that the Imperial blockade had been run, routed, or destroyed by the Rebellion on their way to deliver aid to the Noghri. Just because Organa Solo had said she would not be summoning the military to her side didn’t mean that it wasn’t possible. In all likelihood, the Fleet was following standard procedures and still jamming long-range communications, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t gotten some word out before having to land. In either case, Pellaeon reminded himself that he needed to have faith in the grand admiral. With any luck, he would be freed before the Rebels decided to interrogate him. Organa Solo would be remiss in her duties if she didn’t at least try to get some information out of such a high-ranking Imperial prisoner. The question he truly dreaded the answer to was if it would be at the hands of some Rebel interrogator, or if the Skywalker children were content to permit the Noghri the opportunity to interrogate him. He'd rather take his chances with the Rebels, knowing their policies and methods were much kinder.

By what he estimated was the fifth day of his captivity he had still received no news about what in the Emperor's name was going on in orbit. Surely the entire Fleet must have been wiped out by now if he was still stuck on this backwater planet as a hostage. There was no way Thrawn would make him wait in a cell this long, or so he had thought. There was always the chance that something had come up that required more attention.

On the sixth day the door slid open for the second time in a very short period. Expecting to be quickly fed and left alone again, Pellaeon almost didn't bother moving. The footfalls approaching his door were unfamiliar and quite a bit louder than usual. Figuring that it was probably just a different Noghri than usual, Pellaeon didn't bother with rolling over to look at whoever had entered. The footsteps didn't stop until they were right behind him, which was a bit odd for the former slaves of the Empire. Whoever it was seemed to know that he was awake and was patiently waiting for the captain to roll over. A Noghri wouldn't have behaved that way – he'd have just been ordered to his feet. A human then, but who? Suppressing his fear that the worst either had happened or was about to happen, Pellaeon rolled over and eased himself into a sitting position–

–And found himself face-to-face with Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. Had he come in with his sister, or had something happened?

“Greetings,” said Skywalker politely, and gestured with Pellaeon’s boots held in his hand. “I imagine you're getting pretty tired of being locked up in here. Would you care to join me for a walk?”

That seemed like an odd invitation to give to a prisoner, especially when he ought to have been taking Pellaeon out of here and back to Coruscant for interrogation and a trial as a war criminal. Given his recent experiences with Jedi, Pellaeon didn't exactly want to go on a walk with one, especially since Grand Admiral Thrawn had been trying so hard to capture or kill this particular Jedi. Until he had more information, he wasn't moving of his own will. “A walk to where?” he asked, on his guard. Getting out of here would be nice, but not if he was going to be trading it for an even worse experience.

Perhaps Skywalker was using the Force to read his mind or his mood, because he gave Pellaeon a small grin that was only a little reassuring. Great. Now he was entertainment for Rebel scum. “Just some fresh air while we discuss the preliminary negotiation for your freedom.”

“The Grand Admiral decided to negotiate?” Pellaeon asked, both relief and disbelief coloring his tone. What in Vader's name was Thrawn thinking? Negotiating like this would make them look weak to the Imperial politicians and military officers Thrawn would need to court to unify the Fleet once more. On the other hand, Intelligence would likely indicate that deciding to negotiate would look good to the populace under their control. Somehow, something had tipped the scales that way instead of leading to Thrawn just blasting the planet to rubble from orbit.

“Yes,” Skywalker confirmed. “Is that unusual for him?”

Deciding that a walk did sound nice after all, Pellaeon accepted his boots when they were offered and pulled them on. When Skywalker gestured for him to exit the cell the captain warily stepped into the corridor. It was Skywalker's way of asking politely what Thrawn was like, he was sure. Ignoring the Noghri following them at a distance, he walked with Skywalker at a leisurely pace.

Should he even answer that? If he could mislead them into thinking Thrawn was trustworthy to a fault it could help negotiations go in their favor and lower whatever exorbitant sum the Noghri were demanding... on the other hand, people he'd betrayed had current dealings with the Rebellion. Would there be a benefit to lying anyway, or would telling Skywalker the truth from Pellaeon's own point of view be more beneficial? With bleeding hearts like the Rebels, humanizing the enemy might make them more sympathetic. “No. He's nothing like Lord Vader or Emperor Palpatine were. I'm sure it's hard for you to believe, but he's genuinely a good leader and treats his people rather well.”

“Yet you weren't expecting him to negotiate,” Skywalker pointed out as they stepped into the sunshine outside the spaceport. 

Pellaeon was silent for a long moment, simply basking in the warmth of the sun on his face and the feeling of fresh air on his skin. They couldn't afford this. “I was hoping he wouldn't,” he finally answered, just to clarify. “My own life is of little importance; indeed, there are still other things that must be taken into account besides the value of the hostage.”

They walked along a little, each man silent for a while, the Noghri guards trailing behind them as though they expected Pellaeon do something tactically foolish. He was an old man taking a walk with a Jedi Master on a planet full of killers. The guards probably weren’t even necessary. There was nowhere for him to go. “How long have I been off the _Chimaera_?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence. He needed to know how off his estimate was.

“Nearly nine days,” Skywalker responded calmly. “Two days to get you here, and seven days of the Noghri arguing with Grand Admiral Thrawn, though I did get the feeling in my initial conversation with him that your people had a separate issue to deal with.”

Pellaeon wouldn't know anything about that, but it was nice to know there might be a decent reason for the delay in getting him the hell out of here and that his estimate was close enough to being accurate to satisfy him. There hadn't been any such issues brought to his attention while he had been aboard, and he couldn't imagine what the delay could be aside from figuring out how the Noghri got onto the _Chimaera_. Commander Smith was incredibly competent, and Pellaeon highly doubted it had taken that long for the brilliant Intelligence officer to find the puzzle pieces for Grand Admiral Thrawn to fit together. He glanced up at the sky, at the vague and distant shape of the ships in the blockade that were in a lower orbit. It was a relief to know the Fleet was still there, still undamaged, and to get to see that with his own eyes. The sight had a calming effect on his mind.

“When are the negotiations to take place?” Pellaeon asked after another moment spent looking longingly up at the sky above him that held his family and his friends. Almost all of the people he cared about were up there, in orbit, and therefore in potential danger from the Rebels, if Organa Solo or Skywalker managed to get word out to them – or if they came looking for them due to a delay in communications.

“That hasn't been entirely decided yet.” Skywalker turned his head to look at Pellaeon with eyes that looked so old in such a young face. A gust of wind blew, shifting his sandy hair messily on his head, and Pellaeon felt like he was looking at a ghost of a General who had been dead for five years now. General Skywalker did share the same last name with the man before him, and he found himself wondering for the first time if they were related.

Perhaps he had sensed something had come over the captain, or had just gotten a good at his face, but Skywalker stopped and turned to look at him more fully. “What is it?” he asked, concern written all over his features. 

“You look quite a bit like a general I knew during the Clone Wars did at your age. It's uncanny. You could be a young General Skywalker, if your hair curled just a little more and you were a little cockier and more reckless.” 

That had an interesting effect on Skywalker. Pellaeon was sure he had the younger man's full attention as he began walking again. Skywalker and his sister had grown up without knowing much about their family, according to their information. It was only natural they would be curious. The Jedi didn't move for a full thirty seconds, and then he caught up to the captain.

“You knew my father?” he asked, as though he hadn't expected that.

The corner of Pellaeon's lip twitched slightly. “Yes. I knew him for most of my career. I even served under him on a mission or two during the Clone Wars, when he was still a Jedi General.” Pellaeon glanced over at Skywalker. “Perhaps one day I'll tell you about that, but not now. Not on Honoghr. They'll take it as blasphemy and tear me apart for it.”

The Jedi seemed to accept that, and didn’t seem surprised at all that Pellaeon knew where the Jedi Master had gotten his powers. “Fair enough,” he capitulated. “There were a few questions I wanted to ask you prior to the negotiation, if you're willing to answer.”

A more polite interrogation had probably never happened. It was a drastic and pleasant different from what he had expected would be the first round of questioning. “Such as?” That would depend on what Skywalker wanted to know. 

“You mentioned that he's nothing like my father was.”

Ah. How could he respond to that without giving away too much? Pellaeon was willing to die for the Empire, and to die for Thrawn, but not unless it was necessary. Thrawn so hated needless death and destruction, and Pellaeon was inclined to agree with the grand admiral on that subject. Humanizing him likely wouldn't do any harm. “He's not needlessly cruel or ruthless and prefers to inspire others wherever possible instead of killing them... with some exceptions.” The stormtroopers were certainly preforming better since their pay and liberty had been threatened, and the tractor beam operators were performing better than they had at the height of the Empire’s power.

Skywalker seemed to consider that for a moment. “But he still uses fear as a tactic,” the Jedi pointed out, “and he tried to kidnap me, my sister, and my niece and nephew. It's not going to be taken well back home if we mediate a negotiation with someone who believes in using force or threat of force to get his way.”

Like the Rebellion, Jedi Order, or Old Republic were ever innocent. Politicians might not be warriors or soldiers, but they tended to have no qualms about threatening others nonetheless. Pellaeon resisted the urge to say something extremely unkind about some of the Jedi he had served under and the ridiculous squabbling in the Senate that had led to civil war in the first place and settled for something more polite. “A wise tactician uses whatever means necessary to advance his cause,” Pellaeon argued quietly, “and he only uses it when nothing else is going to be efficient and effective. It's no different than some of the tactics authorized by the Jedi Council and their Generals during the Clone Wars, or politicians threatening fellow politicians in order to have their own way with the rules.”

A glance over at Skywalker showed the young man didn't believe him – and why would he? Skywalker had only heard the Rebellion's side of the conflict, which glorified the sort of chaos that could only come from having too many pilots in the cockpit, each with a different opinion on which direction to guide the ship. This young man certainly hadn't been alive to experience the civil war that led to the Emperor's rise to power, and the Rebellion hadn’t yet managed to collapse despite the demands of the many races that had joined them. One day, it would happen. Skywalker would understand then if he was alive to see it.

“Do you know why Thrawn joined the Empire?” Skywalker asked, opting for a change of topic as he conceded the point to Pellaeon.

He knew what the Jedi really meant, of course. Many of his fellow officers and subordinates had asked the same question since Thrawn had come to them from the Unknown Regions: where in the hell had Thrawn come from, and why wasn’t his race common in the Empire or anywhere known to either government? Why would an alien ever want to join the racist Empire? It was a line of questioning that had been going around since his appointment to the Imperial Academy as an instructor, if not sooner. “Because he's an alien?” Pellaeon asked dryly. “You'd have to ask him, though I doubt you would get an answer. That's a story I believe he's confided to very few – perhaps even only to the Emperor.”

Skywalker nodded, considered it, and asked a different question. “He's requested we conduct the negotiations on either the _Chimaera_ or a neutral world. If we went to the _Chimaera_ for this, would he honor his promise to let us leave afterward?”

It was hardly surprising that Thrawn would request some venue that would give him the upper hand, and it wasn't surprising at all that Skywalker was concerned. His sister was a new mother, after all, and if it were any of his siblings and his own nieces and nephews, Pellaeon would want assurances as their safety first as well. Fortunately, he could provide that. “So long as you don't try to double-cross him, damage the ship, or go digging through anyone's minds, he'll likely keep his word.”

Unless something changed due to the thing Skywalker had mentioned. “I take it I'm remaining here for the duration of the meetings?”

“There's no other way the Noghri will negotiate,” the Jedi Master pointed out.

“Then you should have no trouble coming and going from the ship at your leisure,” Pellaeon assured him.

Though not thrilled with another few days in the cell Skywalker was now returning him to, he was happy to know things were moving along. At least he wasn't being subjected to a full-scale interrogation, just the softening-up phase of little food, water, and company just in case negotiations broke down. When they returned to the cell, Skywalker bid him a good afternoon, took his boots away again, and left Pellaeon to his speculations and concerns about what sort of chaos he could possibly be missing on his ship.

– – –

When morning came Pellaeon was woken by his guards, fed, and ordered to shower, shave, and put on his now-clean uniform. Grateful to have something familiar to wear again, Pellaeon was more than happy to oblige despite having the razor confiscated immediately after he finished with it. He'd expected to be returned to his cell once he was clean; instead, he was restrained (but thankfully not gagged) and led up to the communications center portion of the spaceport. Skywalker was waiting for them outside the door, one of Organa Solo’s infants cooing happily in his arms. He led the way into the room, where his sister and Dynast Ir'khaim were in conversation around the hologram pod with Grand Admiral Thrawn. Pellaeon couldn't help but notice that the other baby was asleep in the arms of a Noghri as he was led close enough to listen but not to be seen. Seeing someone so deadly holding someone so innocent was strange.

“This arrangement is entirely dependent upon whether or not you've kept my second-in-command in decent condition,” Thrawn was saying coldly to Ir'khaim. “If you've harmed him in any way, given him up to the Rebels, or conveniently 'misplaced' him, there will be no more conversation, only suffering. I've been asking you to let me speak with him for three days now. This is no longer a request. You will let me speak with him and confirm his condition for myself or this entire planet will suffer the consequences.”

It sounded to Pellaeon as though Thrawn was close to losing his patience with the Noghri. The aliens had known him since Lord Vader had given them to him, and the Dynasts in particular should definitely have known better than to test the limits of his patience. Some of them had seen it pushed to the limit once or twice and the consequences of doing something so utterly stupid. Pellaeon couldn’t imagine any of them wanting to push him that far intentionally, unless this was some negotiation tactic suggested by Organa Solo.

Organa Solo had either felt or heard them enter, and she glanced off to the side. The movement caught Ir'khaim's attention, and he turned as well. “Very well,” the councilor said, and gestured for the guards to bring Pellaeon over as her and Ir'khaim stepped away.

It probably wasn't obvious to anybody else in the room, but to Pellaeon - who knew what to look for - the Grand Admiral looked exhausted. The pallor of his skin (not obvious to anybody who didn't spend hours by his side under the bright lights of the bridge) reminded Pellaeon rather unpleasantly of the time Thrawn had spent recovering in sick bay from Rukh's treacherous attack. Under those circumstances, Thrawn had barely been able to keep his eyes open longer than half an hour at a time thanks to the chemical concoction given to him by the medics to help with the pain that lingered even after emergency surgery and three days of unconsciousness in a bacta tank. At that time his light blue skin had appeared as a blueish-gray, and the color was closer to the latter than the former at the moment. His eyes looked pinched around the edges, and his posture was just slightly less proper than normal. That was a look he had seen after long battles when the both of them were exhausted but forcing themselves to stay awake for debriefings. Pellaeon gave him a disapproving look as he took in the sight of his commander. He hoped Thrawn was at least attending meals regularly and actually managing to eat them.

The Grand Admiral pointedly ignored the criticizing gaze. “Captain,” Thrawn greeted, relief just barely audible in his tone. “How are you feeling?”

 _Better than you look_ , he thought but didn't say aloud. The Rebels and Noghri didn't need to know that they'd gotten to Grand Admiral Thrawn by hijacking his second-in-command. Pellaeon gave him another less-than-obvious once-over and quirked an eyebrow to get his point across. “I'm more or less all right. They’ve been letting me rest,” he replied, and then narrowed his eyes just slightly to let Thrawn know that he knew the Grand Admiral wasn't doing as well.

That time Thrawn didn't ignore the look. He minutely arched an eyebrow in disbelief, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly in amusement and something that may have been fondness at being silently reprimanded by his second-in-command for his exhaustion. If nothing else, it seemed to reassure him that Pellaeon was coping with captivity well enough to get by. “More or less?” he inquired. “Have they treated you poorly?”

“I'm a prisoner of the Noghri,” Pellaeon reminded him quietly. “They've not been needlessly cruel, but I'm very much looking forward to coming home, Admiral...” He hesitated, and Thrawn saw it and narrowed his eyes.

“But?” he prompted.

Pellaeon forced himself to maintain eye contact and just say it. “I’d rather you ran a cost-benefit analysis first.”

There was definitely a hint of surprise on Grand Admiral Thrawn's face, surprise which Pellaeon heard echoed in the room behind him. Clearly the last thing any of them expected was for Pellaeon to give Thrawn permission to just leave him there. With the grand admiral (and everyone else, really) at least slightly off-balance, now was the time to press his point. 

“One person’s life is worth nothing in the best interests of the Empire.” It wasn't that he wanted to stay, but it was his duty as an Imperial officer to act in the best interests of the Empire, whether they be financial or something else. Even with all of Thrawn's expansion and the support of the remaining Grand Moffs, their resource were still considerably limited, and no matter how badly he wanted to go home to his ship, that wouldn't change. They’d lost two bases and sustained major damage recently. Other things had to come first.

Thrawn's lips compressed into a thin line as he gave Pellaeon a thoroughly disapproving look. “I disagree, Captain. Bringing you back – especially through negotiations – will be beneficial in the long-run. You are to continue cooperating with the Noghri until we come to an agreement concerning your release. Do I make myself clear”? His voice was cold and angry, yes, but it wasn't something Pellaeon was afraid of, as much as the alarmed murmuring of the others in the room told him they thought he should be concerned, at the very least. Thrawn was angry with him, but not in a way that had Pellaeon fearing a demotion. The two of them had gotten into enough arguments in the last two years that he knew what tones to worry over.

It sounded like Thrawn had a plan in mind, and negotiating was part of it. Pellaeon couldn't wait to hear him justify that when he was returned to the _Chimaera_. He wanted to protest, but if he hesitated to argue with the man in front of junior officers, there was no way he was going to do it in front of their enemies. His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stand up straight. “Yes, Admiral,” he acknowledged, letting his tone speak his thoughts for him by conveying the silent 'You'd better have something really good in mind for this' he was thinking. Pellaeon was willing to trust Thrawn as always, but he was nervous that this time he might be wrong again.

Organa Solo stepped close. “The Noghri say that's long enough,” she interjected calmly.

Pellaeon glanced at her and nodded his understanding, and then locked eyes with Thrawn. “We'll speak again soon enough, Captain,” the Grand Admiral soothed. “You must trust me.”

“You know I do,” Pellaeon replied quietly. He trusted Thrawn, but the man was just as mortal and capable of mistakes as the rest of them. Why did he have a horrible feeling that this would be the last time they spoke for a while?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just decided I didn't care who all knew that Lord Vader was previously Anakin Skywalker. It's my crossover and I'll change whatever important details I want to. c:Thanks to those of you who are reading this, and to Sithy who makes my day by actually commenting and leaving kudos. 
> 
> I've filled over 150 pages handwriting this out so I can get the ideas to flow. I'm on my third notebook.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All six of them stepped closer the the viewport ignoring the shuttle operations crew member who gave them all a strange look. Levi carefully kept himself between the Noghri and Thrawn, and when Mike joined them a moment later, he joined Levi at his defensive position. Whoever this fleet belonged to, they were clearly no match for the Grand Admiral's tactics, but the destruction of half their ships already wasn't stopping them from determinedly trying to land their forces on the planet's surface or blast away at Nystao. 
> 
> Levi caught a glimpse at Thrawn's tense face as he ordered their fighters to go after the ship that was driving hard into the atmosphere, and he wondered why he looked as worried as the Jedi until it clicked.
> 
> Captain Pellaeon and Organa Solo's infants were still down there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 05/23/2015: MAJOR SPOILERS for chapters 68 and 69 of SnK regarding Levi.

The first thing that had surprised Levi was that the Noghri and the Jedi had agreed to hold the negotiations on the _Chimaera_. He didn't much like the thought of Thrawn inviting their enemies aboard, but he supposed it was better than their leader heading down to a hostile planet full of trained killers who held a grudge specifically against the grand admiral. It would also be easier to collect information with their enemies on the ship than having to dodge Noghri on the planet to watch them.

The second thing that had surprised him had also annoyed him: Grand Admiral Thrawn had requested that he and Erwin sit in on the negotiations with him and Captain Harbid instead of Commanders Quenton and Ardiff. It made sense, Levi supposed – they were the best of Imperial Intelligence. Ardiff was also an emotional young man, quick to take offense and offer it in return. When it came to calm, logical reasoning, the man could sometimes be just as bad as Eren, though he was several years older and far more experienced.

Which brought Levi to the final thing that had surprised him: Thrawn was inviting the only remaining Jedi Master to the ship. What if he was planning to give up Eren to him in exchange for concessions made on the part of the New Republic? Levi could handle his most determined subordinate learning to use the Force if it meant he'd learn to control his abilities so another outburst wouldn’t happen. What he wasn't fine with was Eren learning the idiotic tenants of the old Jedi Order. Though he hadn't fought in the Clone Wars, plenty of the senior officers had and had also served directly under Jedi Generals. Captain Pellaeon and Captain Harbid were both very fond of telling stories of the war to impressionable and easily terrified new recruits once one got the right amount of alcohol into them. Levi had heard all the stories firsthand, and he knew how to arrogant and dangerous the Jedi had become. 

That was the last thing he wanted for a wide-eyed, eager-to-please kid like Eren. The traditional Jedi values were completely idiotic and impractical; besides, there was no way such an honest, caring kid could give up his attachments to his friends and family and that was something Levi didn't want to see. Even in the underbelly of Coruscant where he’d grown up, rumors had reached of Jedi being driven mad their own inability to let go of the things and people they loved. Levi had made sure to quietly assign Eren to a string of complicated tasks on the opposite side of the ship from their conference where he would be directly under Mike and Hanji's supervision.

If Eren wasn't around, and Skywalker wasn't keeping an eye out for Force-sensitive soldiers, Levi figured Eren was probably safe.

The four Imperials attending the meeting met the shuttle from Honoghr's surface in the aft hangar bay. Erwin and Harbid stood on either side of Thrawn at precisely the distance away from and behind that was required by military etiquette. Levi stood behind and between them. On either side of them stood a column of stormtroopers in a show of force meant more for the Noghri than the Rebels at the moment. The three junior officers stood at attention, but Levi thought they looked sloppy in comparison to Thrawn. He stood up perfectly straight, posture exactly perfect, and his hands clasped behind his back in a way that looked militarily acceptable, but also made him look like a perfectly trustworthy gentleman if one were to discount the nature of his eyes and the way they made most Humans feel terribly uneasy. It was something that struck Levi as weird to see on a man he knew was utterly ruthless in pursuit of his goals and had no qualms about executing men for irredeemable incompetence, but Thrawn, he reminded himself, was also a well-loved and experienced leader. He’d made it to the rank of Grand Admiral against all odds; Levi had to take it as a sign that Thrawn knew what he was doing.

There was no way the deceiving appearance was going to put the traitors and the Jedi at ease, though. Levi privately hoped Thrawn, Harbid, and Erwin had enough diplomacy between them to fix this mess, and fast, before the Rebels sent a fleet after Organa Solo because she'd been out of contact too long. Levi wasn’t a diplomat, and knew he’d been chosen for his ability to observe and pick an opponent apart with only his gaze to discern their weaknesses. There were several very good reasons he’d made it to the rank and command he had, and that was chief amongst them.

The three Noghri Dynasts that had been sent to negotiate on behalf of Honoghr preceded Organa Solo and Skywalker down the shuttle ramp. The greeting between Thrawn and the Noghri was formal and strained, but Organa Solo offered him the back of her hand like they probably did back in the days of the early Imperial Court when Levi was just street scum trying to make a living in the sunless levels below the surface of the planet-wide city. It was a show of fearlessness, but it seemed to put the tiny, traitorous little aliens more at ease when Thrawn accepted it and bowed politely over it in a way that was weirdly attractive before politely shaking Skywalker's hand. He introduced himself to them, and then turned to the rest of his party. 

“At ease,” he ordered. The three men complied, snapping in unison to the less formal stance with parade-ground perfect precision. “If you'll allow me to present the rest of my party,” Thrawn was saying as Levi kept his attention on the Dynasts as instructed. Behind them, Intelligence agents were quietly slipping into the shuttle to make sure there were no more of the little bastards in hiding. “These are the gentlemen that will be joining us for the negotiations: Captain Harbid, of the _Death's Head_ , and Commander Smith and Lieutenant Ackerman.”

Polite nods and handshakes consisting of who-knew-what germs were exchanged between the men and the councilor. Levi was thankful his superiors had the good sense to prepare him in advance for what to expect and what was expected of him because he probably would have blanched away from the touch. No one knew what kind of planetary dirt the others were bringing aboard. The councilor presented the aliens, who Thrawn already knew, to the other men. Unhappy about having his hand sniffed, Levi tried not to show it. Stupid-ass greetings concluded, Thrawn offered Councilor Organa Solo his arm, and escorted her to the ready room off the hangar bay that had been painstakingly prepared for the meeting.

The talks were dreadfully boring, aside from the occasional emotional and accusatory outbursts from the three Dynasts. Thrawn proved to be incredibly skilled at deflecting and dissipating the anger directed at him and turning each one around into talking points and very subtle accusations of his own. It looked to Levi like he was testing them, searching for an exploitable weakness that he could use his considerable tactical prowess to exploit. What Thrawn couldn't answer without anger boiling up in him, Harbid and Erwin were able to quietly deal with by presenting solid counter-arguments. Personally, Levi was pretty sure Organa Solo was onto their negotiation strategy. The Rebels and Noghri were holding their own pretty well.

“Holding their own” didn't mean they weren't exempt from relenting a little to the charm of a proper gentlemen or three. Thrawn’s, Harbid’s, and Erwin's combined charm seemed to be wearing the Humans down a little after an hour or two of prolonged exposure. Just as Levi had a feeling they were about to make a breakthrough of some kind, something hit the _Chimaera_ with enough force to rock it. Harbid and Thrawn exchanged a worried look, and he knew what they were thinking. An Imperial Class-II Star Destroyer was huge, well-defended, and hardly easy to budge; in other words, nothing in the galaxy could make it move like that besides another ship of a similar size and class colliding with it. Thrawn hit the intercom just as the sirens and flashing lights began, signaling all crew to full alert and to battle stations. 

“Bridge, this is Grand Admiral Thrawn. Status report.”

Commander Ardiff's voice was the one that came back, but Levi could hear Quenton shouting orders for evasive action and to scramble TIE fighters in the background.

“We're under attack by an unidentifiable fleet. They hit two of our sentry ships coming out of hyperspace then decided to ram us on their way into the system. The ships are no known make or affiliation, not responding to our hails, not broadcasting ID.”

Hell. Their intelligence hadn't suggested the Rebellion was trying anything stupid, and a quick glance across the table showed that this was a complete surprise to the Skywalker twins and the Noghri. Thrawn seemed to have come to the same conclusion after studying them with narrowed eyes. 

“I'm on my way,” he said, and signed off the comm as he stood. “I'm afraid I must insist that you accompany us to the bridge, for your safety and ours. I can hardly leave you to run around unsupervised in the middle of battle.”

The other party exchanged a glance, but nodded and followed the Imperials into the turbolift. “Stick close to the Dynasts,” Thrawn murmured to Levi as they all stepped in. “Don't let them out of your sight. I'll call Major Zakarius to the bridge to assist."

It made sense to exercise caution, and that Thrawn might be worried, given what had happened the last time a Noghri had been on the bridge. Levi nodded once. “Yes, sir,” he answered quietly, and watched as Thrawn pulled out his comlink and made the call to the Major.

When they arrived on the bridge Levi kept the Dynasts and Rebels in the aft section as Thrawn and Harbid moved forward to their battle stations and Erwin moved into the port-side crew pit to assist the Intelligence duty officer there. The stormtroopers on guard on the bridge made it a little easier for him to breathe, and some of the Imperial Security Bureau personnel had come out of their office off the aft bridge to assist. 

Skywalker and Organa Solo were staring out at the closest viewport, a strange look on their faces that held Levi's attention long enough to make his skin crawl. Whatever their Jedi senses were picking up, it couldn’t be good. The Noghri saw it too, and Levi watched them tense. “What do you sense, son of Vader?” one of the little gray-skinned killers asked.

Vader.

Oh.

Levi made a mental note to file that revelation away to report to the grand admiral later. 

“I'm not sure,” he replied, looking about as uncertain as Levi had ever seen another man look. “Something about those ships is way off.”

“I sense it too,” Organa Solo murmured.

All six of them stepped closer to the viewport, ignoring the shuttle operations crew member who gave them all a strange look. Levi carefully kept himself between the Noghri and Thrawn, and when Mike joined them a moment later, he joined Levi at his defensive position on the Noghri’s other side. Whoever this fleet belonged to, they were clearly no match for the Grand Admiral's tactics, but the destruction of half their ships already wasn't stopping them from determinedly trying to land their forces on the planet's surface or blast away at Nystao. 

Levi caught a glimpse at Thrawn's tense face as he ordered their fighters to go after the ship that was driving hard into the atmosphere, and he wondered why he looked as worried as the Jedi until it clicked.

Captain Pellaeon and Organa Solo's infants were still down there.

– – –

After hearing what sounded like turbolaser fire, the very last thing Pellaeon might have expected was for his door to be opened and several Noghri to pour into the cell with two crying infants in tow. “We are under attack from an unknown force, one of them explained as he shoved a wailing infant into the Human's arms. The other one was handed over, and Pellaeon made a slight face. How the hell was he supposed to juggle two crying babies and defend the three of them if necessary?

It had been a few years since he'd last held a baby; Pellaeon's nieces and nephews were all adults now, and he hadn't seen a baby since his eldest niece had given birth shortly before the Battle of Endor. “The trick is to put one on each hip,” one of the Noghri informed him. She helped him adjust the children before stepping back to point a blaster rifle at the door. Skywalker's protocol droid was shoved behind them, complaining all the while, as the Noghri sealed the door. There was no sound but that of the babies crying for a few moments, and then the muffled sounds of a firefight from the upper levels of the space station were audible.

“How did they get passed the blockade?” he murmured quietly, not wanting to alarm the slowly quieting babies.

“We're not certain,” the Noghri who shoved the babies at him replied tersely. “The Imperial Fleet had just engaged the enemy when we were sent here to protect you and the children.”

At least that likely meant Thrawn was alive and in charge up there. There was a good chance he would route them and have them all out of there in no time. Pellaeon did his best to keep up his faith in the man, and to ignore the sound of enemy fire coming steadily closer.

– – –

The communications officers had been jamming transmissions throughout their blockade, and had been able to verify that their attackers were not able to communicate. Despite that, they were moving with a bizarre amount of coordination. The battle was still going in their favor, but Levi could see it wasn't going as smoothly as it could. 

“How the hell are they communicating?” Levi murmured. All of their scans had confirmed that they were Humans only, and no special modifications had been made to their ships.

Next to him, Skywalker had his eyes closed, likely to help block out the chaos of the bridge, and appeared to be doing one of those creepy Jedi things. Levi just hoped he wasn't doing anything to the crew. They'd had enough of that with C'baoth. He needn't have worried. After a moment, his eyes popped open again, incredulity all over his farm boy face. He looked over and down at Levi.

“There are Jedi on that ship,” he breathed, tone betraying his confusion and his hope. “That's how they're communicating.” 

“Are you sure?” he murmured back.

Though Skywalker's face was still completely bemused, he nodded. “I'm positive.”

That was information Thrawn needed, but Levi didn't want to incite the bridge crew to a panic. “Okay, just don't say anything about it any louder,” he replied quietly as he pulled out his data pad.

Quickly, he sent a message to Thrawn under the Intelligence encryption relaying that information and that one of the Dynasts had reverently referred to Luke as the 'son of Vader', and flagged it as urgent and Eyes Only. Grand Admiral Thrawn read it over, and glanced over at Levi. Levi met his gaze and nodded briefly to confirm he had sent it, and Thrawn turned back to his displays to begin tapping out a new set of orders. Privately, Levi hoped that wouldn't make him badly want to bring one in to have a look at Eren. 

Those fears were dashed when the written order – not spoken, thanks to their “guests” – came over his data pad rescinding an earlier order to take prisoners; instead, Thrawn had ordered them to leave none alive.

– – –

With the order to use lethal force at will delivered to all ships, it didn't take long at all for the Imperials to decimate the enemy forces. Rescue ships were sent out to look for survivors, but had been instructed to simply kill anyone they found alive and only bring back their own people and a couple of dead samples for Medical to examine. Thrawn left the cleanup operation and the blockade in the hands of Captain Harbid after that to accompany the Jedi and Noghri back down to the surface. Mike came along with his entire squad plus Levi, and Levi brought Mikasa, Sasha, Jean, and three full squads of stormtroopers along to protect Grand Admiral Thrawn and assist in the cleanup efforts.

The ride down to the surface was tense, with the Rebels worried about the infants, the Noghri worried about their people, and Thrawn, presumably, worried about Captain Pellaeon. The telemetry data from the battle had indicated that a drop ship had landed outside of the spaceport and attempted to infiltrate it, but no one knew how bad the damage actually was. Once out of the shuttle, it became clear that there was plenty of reason to worry: Nystao was a mess. The Grand Duhka was nothing but rubble now, most of the nearby buildings were half-collapsed, and the tiny spaceport that the Imperials had built years ago...

Grand Admiral Thrawn and the others were looking at it quite tensely. “Scan for survivors.” Levi heard him order quietly. Thrawn didn't take his red eyes off the building for a moment, seemingly content to let Mike order the soldiers around and task Levi's squad with protecting their leader. 

Busy directing his subordinates into positions, including getting Sasha up as high as possible, Levi almost missed Skywalker's analysis of the situation. He had tensed at Thrawn's order, but relaxed now as he opened his eyes. “There are five survivors, buried at the detention level: Jacen and Jaina, your captain, and two Noghri.”

Organa Solo looked relieved, but concerned. With a cave-in like that, they could be running out of air. “Can you move enough of it?” she asked her brother.

Skywalker moved close to the wreckage, examined the base of it and the way the rubble had collapsed and shook his head. “I don't think I could do it without possibly making it worse. I'm not an engineer.” He turned his head to look at Thrawn. “Do you have the equipment to dig this out?”

“If not, I have the manpower and the engineers,” he said, and turned to Levi. Some of the tenseness had drained from Thrawn's face, now that he knew Pellaeon was still alive. Interesting. Well, they did spend a lot of time together, and Pellaeon was definitely what Levi would consider to be his student. It was normal for Thrawn to worry about the safety of his subordinates, and he brushed it off as that. “Lieutenant Ackerman.”

Levi straightened and took a step forward to attend to his superior. “Admiral?”

“Contact Captain Harbid. Tell him we need a heavy-duty cleanup crew to Nystao immediately, along with medical personnel to tend to the injured. If we don't have the equipment with us, we need manpower and engineers.”

“Yes, sir,” Levi replied, who nodded the order on to Ensign Kirstein. The younger man got on his comlink immediately, relaying Grand Admiral Thrawn's orders in such a precise voice that was so different from his usual, sloppy, casual tone that it surprised Levi, though he didn’t show it. Perhaps the conversation they’d had over controlling his emotions in front of others, no matter the situation, had gotten through to the boy.

It only took half an hour of anxiously waiting around for the machinery and crew to arrive. From there it took four hours to move enough of the twisted metal to get to the ceiling of the detention-level cell where Pellaeon had been kept, even with everyone helping. It took them another hour to safely get through the ceiling of the cell, and by then the medics were primarily concerned with whether or not there was any air left in the pocket in which they’d been trapped. The two injured Noghri were unconscious but easily removed. The babies and the captain, however, were a different story. Skywalker insisted that he would be able to float the other three out, so he climbed down into the hole, and everyone else gathered around to watch. 

The droid went first, just to get it out of the way. It looked like an old protocol droid, probably pre-Clone Wars, but kept in excellent condition. Whoever had built it had done a pretty decent job. Next, Skywalker had to move the bodies of the Noghri that had died sheltering the Humans under their charge. From there, he was able to gently shift the captain. 

“He's hurt! It looks pretty bad. Get a medical team over here.”

Levi waved the order off to Jean, and then watched as Skywalker gently removed one of the babies from the captain's arms. It looked to Levi like Captain Pellaeon had been sheltering the little ones. With all the nieces and nephews the man had, it was no wonder he would have the protective instinct. 

“How are Jacen and Jaina?” Organa Solo called down.

“They're fine. I'm sending Jacen up now.”

The boy came first, and started crying about halfway up. Organa Solo clutched him to her tightly and knelt on the ground as the other wailing infant came up. One of the medics moved to kneel next to her to check on them and help calm them down.

Down below, Skywalker was doing a more thorough check on the captain's condition. There was quite a bit of blood, and Levi really hoped it belonged to the Noghri. They weren't so lucky “He's bleeding pretty badly from his thigh. If one of you can climb down here and carry him the rest of the way, I can keep pressure on it with the Force until you're up.”

Levi knew Thrawn was still not permitted to engage in any really heavy lifting thanks to his own bout with blood loss and severe injury, and Pellaeon, though only three inches taller than him, would be awkward for him to carry. Even as Thrawn stepped forward, he interceded. “Major Zakarius,” he called. “Come here, please.”

Mike wasn't far away, and came jogging over to see what was needed. He looked down into the hole and swore viciously enough that Thrawn and Levi both nodded a little in agreement. That about summed it up. “Can you get down there and carry him part of the way, sir?” he asked, barely remembering to tack the “sir” onto the end. Mike climbed down immediately into a closer position with stable footing and let Skywalker lift him to him. True to his word, Skywalker kept pressure on the wound long enough for Mike to get him to the side of the two medics that were already hovering and waiting to help.

Thrawn had Kirstein call for a shuttle for an emergency evac as Mike, Levi, and the medics knelt to help. One of the medics covered him with a blanket to help with the shock, and they set to work trying to stem or stop the bleeding. It didn't look good at all. Thrawn crouched in the grass next to the captain as the medics tried every trick in the book to get the bleeding under control enough to move him to the _Chimaera_ for surgery to repair what appeared to be a cut that had also partially opened his femoral artery. He looked pretty worried, and Levi could understand that. In addition to the bad bleeding, Captain Pellaeon had clearly suffered a rather nasty blow to the head. That was bleeding too, but not as badly as his thigh. He was covered in cuts and bruises – and that was just what could be seen around the high coverage of his uniform. 

The medics tried calling to him, talking to him, to get him to wake up, but weren't getting any response. His pulse was weak and his heart rate was too fast. Pellaeon was breathing shallow, quick breaths, and Levi never knew a man that tanned could end up looking as pale as the Grand Admiral's crisp white uniform so fast. Every Imperial in the vicinity, except Levi's own team who were doing their duty despite any worries they may have had, was watching with baited breath as the medics worked. If they lost him, it would be a huge blow to Fleet morale. Pellaeon was well-loved and highly respected, even in the other military branches. Losing him would be like losing a beloved grandfather, and that something they couldn't afford right now.

The shuttle arrived for Pellaeon just before they managed to slow the bleeding enough to move him. Thrawn left Mike in charge on the surface and went back up on the shuttle with him. Levi and his squad followed along. Thrawn sat out of the medics' way, unmoving, just watching the medics fight for Pellaeon's life with a grim look on his face. Until then, Levi hadn't thought anything could ruffle the perpetually unflappable man. Apparently there was one thing that could. He cataloged that bit of information away for later use. Erwin would know what to do with it.

Pellaeon was taken away for treatment, and Levi left Mikasa and Sasha to guard Pellaeon, along with four stormtroopers, while he and Jean accompanied Grand Admiral Thrawn to the bridge.

Erwin was still on the bridge with Captain Harbid, or so Levi suspected. The Ubiqtorate had formally put Erwin in command of the _Chimaera's_ Intelligence section, but as this was the Grand Admiral's flagship, it was a mobile military base. That made this ship military HQ for Thrawn's faction of the Fleet, and that meant Erwin's job included coordinating all the intelligence from the other sections and ships in the Fleet.

Captain Harbid was having the communications officers relay orders and information, and Thrawn headed right for him. Levi stationed Jean across from the turbolift and stepped patiently to the right of it to wait on Erwin. Commander Smith was at the aft bridge hologram pod speaking with the Lieutenant Commanders that headed the other ships' Intelligence groups, instructing them on which squads to send to the planet and which to help with the cleanup in space. When Erwin was finished Levi jerked his head toward the officer's meeting room, and Erwin nodded and stepped inside with him.

“How's the captain?” Erwin asked as soon as the door slid shut. The taller man looked exhausted. 

Levi shook his head. “It's too soon to say. He's in surgery. I left Mikasa and Ensign Braus down there for his safety, along with a few stormtroopers. Any luck up here?”

Erwin made a face. “No. It seems that if a ship was hit with a disabling blast the navicomputers and records were programmed to self-destruct, which is what they did. There isn't anything we can salvage so far besides bodies, but our sick bays are full of injured pilots and crew so the medics won't be able to examine them for a while.” The blond leaned against the bulkhead wall and leaned his head back to rest against the cool metal. 

“So what exactly is Captain Pellaeon's condition?” Erwin asked after a moment of silence that Levi spent contemplating the new information. 

Levi made a face and slumped into the closest chair. Screw formality and military protocol, at least for the moment. “He lost a _lot_ of blood,” he reported. “Something about the rubble cutting his thigh and opening his femoral artery slightly when the heavy portions of the spaceport were lifted and the ceiling cut open. He's unconscious from a blow to the head, probably from protecting the Solo twins during the collapse of the building. Bruises were everywhere I could see, so it's a safe bet he'll be hanging out in a bacta tank for a while after they repair the artery – if they can. Grand Admiral Thrawn looked pretty fucking worried about it.”

Levi sighed and folded his arms on the table. His head dropped into them, slightly pushing his uniform hat up his forehead. “It's a huge fucking mess down there, Erwin. Those Jedi, if that's what they were, really made an effort to devastate Nystao. Did you figure out how they were communicating?”

Erwin shook his head, and for a moment the man looked so weary that he actually looked his full forty years for a change. “No. It’s only a hypothesis, but if they were Force-sensitive they could have been communicating mind-to-mind and we'd have no way to detect it or to intercept it. They definitely were not using regular ship-to-ship communication or any kind of signaling with running lights.”

“Great,” Levi said with a roll of his eyes. “Ships full of crazy, arrogant, mind-reading scum that can communicate when we can’t and we barely have any ysalamiri left aboard our ships these days.”

“I'm sure Grand Admiral Thrawn will have us get more if that's what he decides needs to be done to protect the Fleet. He's not Lord Vader, Levi. You know his reputation as well as anybody else in Intelligence does. Someone will pay for this, but before that he’ll make sure they can’t find some weird way to disable us.

Levi yawned, and turned his head to face Erwin. “You almost wouldn't think he was a ruthless Warlord some days,” he replied before giving his head a shake to chase off the exhaustion that went hand-in-hand with a day like today. “He's somehow more like a father to me than my uncle who raised me and we aren’t even that close. I've heard a lot of people saying that kind of thing lately, that he’s the father of the new Galactic Empire, as though he’s some sort of minor deity striving for greater godhood.”

“Your uncle was a mass-murdering serial killer. The grand admiral most definitely isn’t,” Erwin reminded him with a small smile. “But I see your point. Discipline and rewards, just as a father should dole out when he cares about his children.”

A firm hand clasped Levi’s shoulder as Erwin pushed away from the way to take a step closer to him. “You look ready to drop. Go give your squad a rotating guard schedule for Captain Pellaeon, Grand Admiral Thrawn, and Ensign Jaeger, and then get some rest. You're all on guard duty for the foreseeable future.”

“I'll rest if you do,” Levi replied, for once not caring about being stuck playing babysitter. “If I look ready to drop, you look ready to fucking die.”

Erwin gave him a small smile. “As soon as I deliver my report to Grand Admiral Thrawn I'll get some sleep. Satisfied?”

He'd have to be, wouldn't he? Levi wasn't even sure how he'd managed to stay awake enough long enough to issue orders to his own squad, let alone check on Erwin. “Okay, fine, but you'd better do it soon, old man,” he said, standing and stretching.

“I will,” Erwin said, tone fond. “Go on, you're dismissed.”

They were the words Levi had been looking forward to hearing all day. He gave Erwin a nod of acknowledgement, and made his way as quickly as possible to his own quarters for a well-deserved shower and a nap.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the monitors beeped, and Thrawn's glowing eyes darted over to it and lingered on the readout. Dimly, he realized Thrawn really had been – and still was – disquieted by the current state of his health in a way no one had been in years. It was nice – no, that made it sound cheap. The concern was touching, even with medicine and exhaustion limiting his ability to feel pleased by anything. Were he more alert, it would perhaps be more moving than Pellaeon might have otherwise allowed himself to admit to even in the privacy of his own mind. Having the trust and concern of a superior officer he so greatly respected and admired was something to which he was unaccustomed. For that superior to be the remaining and most brilliant of the Emperor's thirteen Warlords was nothing short of the highest honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 05/23/2015: Edited some words here and there.

By the time the Captain came out of the bacta tank and the medically induced coma two days later, the damage left in the aftermath of the attack on the Fleet and the surface had been dealt with properly, the wreckage and bodies collected and analyzed, and all reports filed and processed. Intelligence had begun aggressively pursuing the attacker's back trail and chasing down the two vectors the survivors had used in their escape. They had traced the lettering on the sides of the ships to six previous ports and were still digging. 

Pellaeon was too tired to care much about any of that yet, but he had a feeling no one was expecting him to. Commander Smith gave the Intelligence briefing in Pellaeon's sick bay room amongst all the medical equipment, mostly because the captain had just woken up and wanted an update on the situation and partially because Grand Admiral Thrawn had quietly refused to leave his side for a little while now that Pellaeon was conscious to try to extract as much information about his captivity as possible. The commander kept himself at parade rest while Grand Admiral Thrawn sat in what looked like the most uncomfortable chair in the entire Fleet. The captain was trying his best to stay awake and focused, but the other two men doubtlessly noticed that he dozed off a few times during the conversation.

As nice as it was to have a better idea of what had happened, Pellaeon was glad when Smith was gone and it was just himself and Thrawn in the room. It was hard enough to focus on one visitor – two visitors were one too many for him at the moment. Despite the bacta treatment, blood transfusion, and a continuous IV drip made of a solution that was part bacta and part saline, the health complications caused by heavy blood loss and concussions took time to heal.

There was a heavy silence between them as they quietly studied each other, each trying to think of what they wanted to say. Usually Pellaeon left it up to Thrawn to break the silence; this time, he surprised them both by being the one to break it with the only thought his heavily drugged mind could focus on. “You're still not sleeping enough,” he accused, thought it couldn't have seemed as serious an accusation as he’d intended when it was followed by a yawn. 

“I've made several solid attempts to do so since you so boldly brought it up before, but I've yet to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time,” Thrawn admitted calmly. “Too many things require my attention right now.”

Pellaeon scowled a little at the admission, but he was too out of it to really have enough control over his facial muscles for a proper glower. For a Human to run on such little sleep would be debilitating, but perhaps Grand Admiral Thrawn's mystery species didn't need six to eight hours like most adult Humans generally required. Thrawn must have found his pathetic attempt at a scowl amusing, if that smile was anything to go by. “There's no need for you to concern yourself with my health. I want you focused on taking care of yourself for now. You've been through quite a lot in the last two weeks.”

That was the understatement of the century. Pellaeon thankfully didn't remember much regarding his imprisonment on Honoghr at the hands of the traitorous Noghri people. The doctors had said something about the concussion being responsible for that if he remembered correctly... or had that been a dream? “I remember something about... negotiations?” he asked, squinting a little at Thrawn as he tried to remember if that was indeed the correct word or not. The details were still fuzzy, though the emotions were still there. As he had already told Grand Admiral Thrawn, he remembered being bored, his boots being taken away from him, and feeling concerned and annoyed, though he wasn’t sure why. It seemed like the situation required him to be able to remember accurately how he was treated, but aside from ‘roughly’ and a vague memory of being extremely hungry, he had nothing useful to share.

“Yes, you tried to talk me out of it,” Thrawn said. “Fortunately for your wishes we were attacked in the middle of our first meeting. We may resume them soon, we may not, but this time you _will_ be remaining on the _Chimaera_ whether they like it or not.” His face tightened and his lips compressed slightly, as though the memory pained or displeased him. “I ought to blast the surface into a wasteland for their effrontery, but we may find more information if I pretend to cooperate.”

Pellaeon gave Thrawn a rather apologetic, if exhausted, look “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. He'd meant to go on further, but his eyes were getting heavy. As much as he was trying to remain awake, Pellaeon didn't think it was going to happen.

Grand Admiral Thrawn seemed to get the hint, and stood. His hand, surprisingly warm, brushed over the captain's forehead. “No apologies needed, Captain,” he assured the younger man. “Get some sleep. We'll discuss it when you're more fully awake and not so full of medicine.”

If he had been more fully awake, Pellaeon would have probably admitted that was the better plan. He tried to nod, couldn't really managed to move his head, and made a disgruntled noise instead. “Okay,” he managed after a moment. The warm hand on his forehead lingered only a moment longer, but it was long enough that by the time Thrawn had moved away, Pellaeon was already asleep.

– – –

The next time Pellaeon saw his superior officer it was the middle of the next morning. Pellaeon was typically an early riser, usually up for his duties by 0600, but the exhaustion and drugs overrode all the years of being up at a specific time, and the medics let him sleep as late as his body wanted. The pain from the surgery had dulled rather significantly overnight, but a throbbing headache, significant dizziness, and some nausea had crept into his body in its place. He was still rather easily confused, but the bacta treatment he’d been given after waking up this morning had helped. Thrawn came down just in time to see the captain grouchily refusing anymore food from the medics and lying back down in a huff as they left.

“You seem to have a little more fight in you today,” Thrawn observed as he entered the room and took a seat next to the captain’s bed. Pellaeon gave the seat a dirty look. That looked even more uncomfortable than the one he’d ended up with when it was Thrawn in sickbay suffering from major blood loss, and it was not something at all proper for a grand admiral. He would have to have a talk with the medical staff about making sure a more comfortable option was available. Had he thought that before? It seemed familiar. “I take it they reduced your medication?”

“Yes. They wanted to make sure the amnesia was brought on by the concussion and not because they had me on so many different medications.” He'd wanted to nod, but moving his head made him feel like his brain was trying to knock its way out of his skull by using tiny hammers to chip away at the bone until it had obliterated enough to form a hole from which to escape to greener pastures. It was the most unpleasant side effect of the overnight decrease in dosage. They’d used a nerve blocker on his leg to control the pain that lingered where his femoral artery had been cut at least.

Thrawn frowned, just a little. “Is it?”

Pellaeon sighed softly and closed his eyes against the pain as he adjusted his body to a more comfortable position. “Unfortunately, yes it is, sir. I don't remember much of my imprisonment at all, mostly just strong emotions, except that I think Organa Solo told me why the Noghri switched sides. I don't remember the details, just that it was important to find a way to tell you.” He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. Whatever it was, it was staying frustratingly out of his mental reach.

“Lieutenant Ackerman overheard one of them calling Skywalker the 'son of Vader'. Considering how much they worshiped Lord Vader and that they identify lineage through scent, I think we know what happened on Kashyyyk. Khabarakh must have identified her while carrying out his mission. I haven’t yet had the chance to discover the rest of the events, but that will have to keep for now.” Thrawn looked rather displeased. “It was a stupid mistake on my part, not to take any extra variables into account. We'll need to disabuse them of the notion that Lord Vader was innocent in all this, of course, since he's the one who initially orchestrated their enslavement. It might even help in the negotiations if I decide to continue them. If we can’t have them on our side, we may at least be able to dissuade them from trusting Organa Solo and Skywalker.”

The negotiations and the Rebels. Right. There was more going on here than solving old mysteries.

He lifted his eyes to meet Thrawn's, and tried to give the most apologetic look he could muster, but Pellaeon could only bring himself hold that powerful gaze for a moment before he had to look away. When he opened his eyes again a moment later to avoid falling asleep, Thrawn had shifted in that godawful chair, leaning forward so that his elbows were on his knees and his hands clasped between them. It was the most casual position he'd ever seen his superior adopt. No one slouched on his ship if they were in uniform, especially not the highest ranking officer aboard. “There's no need for you to look so guilty, Captain; after all, none of this was your fault.” The look on his face was more candid than Pellaeon had even seen him. 

Their eyes met briefly, and Pellaeon was awake enough today to realize that the only times Thrawn broke eye contact were to glance anxiously at the tubes or monitoring equipment. Just how close to death had he come that Thrawn seemed worried Pellaeon was going to roll over and die on him at any moment? “Commander Smith has determined that the Noghri targeted you specifically,” Thrawn continued tone firmly insistent, but gentle, “and the Dynasts confirmed it. Rukh didn't manage to kill me, so they thought they would use you as leverage because they mistakenly assumed that forcing me into paying reparations would humiliate me and damage the Empire. This had nothing to do with you, Captain, and I'm sorry you were caught in the middle.”

Thrawn wasn't angry? Pellaeon blinked sleepily up at him. That was good. “I was worried you'd be angry with me for not following procedure,” he murmured, relief on his face. He wanted to argue that it had quite a bit to do with him (he’d hardly been unwilling in regards to their slavery, as much as he personally despised the practice), and that if he’d just followed security protocols to the letter, everything might have been fine.

“I am angry, but not with you,” Thrawn soothed. “I'm more concerned for your well-being, given the extent of the injuries you sustained in the assault by our unknown Jedi assailants.”

Oh. Those. Pellaeon had asked what was wrong so many times that the chief medic had written it on a lightboard across from the bed for him because he kept forgetting things. Right. The concussion and blood loss. He thought about it, tried to be patient as his mind slowly processed the thought. Pellaeon gave Thrawn a considering look, taking in the smallest hint of guilt on his face. “You've been beating yourself up over it,” he observed, somewhat surprised, “and you shouldn’t be, unless you summoned them here.” It was nice to have the drugs, the exhaustion, and the pain to use as an excuse to speak absolutely candidly for a change. Sometimes, someone needed to call the grand admiral out on certain things. Pellaeon didn’t mind taking the opportunity to say something to the alien man who seemed to go out of his way to be as absolutely frustrating as possible when it came to certain topics. It was also a chance to see how good he’d become at reading Thrawn’s body language and tone over the last year.

Thrawn tilted his head slightly, and looked bemused at the expression. There were so many words and phrases in Basic that most Humans didn't know all of them either, and while Thrawn was fluent in Basic and spoke it very well, it wasn't his first, second, or even his third language. Maybe they didn't have the concept of self-inflicted injury on his home planet. “I've not heard that expression before. What does it mean?”

Thinking through the headache to define it was difficult, but Pellaeon managed after a moment of thought in which Thrawn waited with all the patience in the galaxy. “It means that you blame yourself for what has happened to such an extent that thinking about it has because a sort of self-inflicted punishment as you consider what could have been different if only this or that had been done instead. ‘If only I’d acted faster’, ‘If only I’d known the full extent of their abilities’, ‘If only I’d figured out right away what they were after’. That sort of thing.”

Leaning back in his seat, Thrawn gave Pellaeon an evaluating look that gave the injured and exhausted man the impression that he had guessed correctly. Thrawn almost looked a little floored, as though he hadn't expected anybody to see through the mask of the perfectly cultured military officer to find the mortal man hiding from his enemies underneath it. “Is that why you aren't sleeping well?” Pellaeon pressed, too tired to give a damn about boundaries. It wasn't like he would be returning to duty for at least a couple weeks, and anyway, Thrawn had always forgiven him for calling the man out in the past. There was no reason to think right now would be any different, aside from his own stupidity leading to his capture.

He'd expected Thrawn to deny it or change the subject on him. Perhaps it was a measure of Thrawn's exhaustion that he answered honestly. “A little – I’ve mostly been dealing with the aftermath. We still don't know who these Force-sensitive attacks are or from where they came. Master Skywalker even accompanied the TIE squadron I sent out on reconnaissance around the system to see if he could sense any others we might be able to capture and interrogate. I've also been frequently dealing directly with Organa Solo: she's trying to convince me to allow her to summon her husband and a Rebellion task force for added safety precautions.”

“Please tell me you refused,” Pellaeon mumbled. His eyes were feeling heavy again, and he forced them open. The thought of another set of enemies here was concerning, despite his fatigue. 

One of the monitors beeped, and Thrawn's glowing eyes darted over to it and lingered on the readout. Dimly, he realized Thrawn really had been – and still was – disquieted by the current state of his health in a way no one had been in years. It was nice – no, that made it sound cheap. The concern was touching, even with medicine and exhaustion limiting his ability to feel pleased by anything. Were he more alert, it would perhaps be more moving than Pellaeon might have otherwise allowed himself to admit to even in the privacy of his own mind. Having the trust and concern of a superior officer he so greatly respected and admired was something to which he was unaccustomed. For that superior to be the remaining and most brilliant of the Emperor's thirteen Warlords was nothing short of the highest honor.

“Intelligence hasn't even determined where the leak is on our side. There's no way we can trust the less-competent Rebellion Intelligence units to know who their traitors are. Commander Smith is still trying to determine if these two incidents are connected. I have yet to relent to her request.”

“And if there are Jedi, they're more likely to have a stronger foothold among the Rebel troops who admire Skywalker,” Pellaeon added, fighting to keep his eyes open the whole time. Trying to think through the fog of exhaustion that was beginning to encroach on him again was difficult, but it was a welcome distraction from the pain in his head and the pain of his own guilt.

“Precisely,” Thrawn said, and favored Pellaeon with a small smile that his drained mind registered as being rather proud. “That said, her children you so carefully protected would probably be safer elsewhere or with more people around. If we bring her family aboard, then we would at least have them on hand to jump out of the system if our attackers come back. From there, they could be used as leverage against the Rebellion’s government.

Ah. The twins. “They have powerful lungs,” Pellaeon muttered as the memory of their cries hit. “I'd forgotten how loud infants can be.”

That comment seemed to have caught Thrawn's interest enough for him to pursue it as a line of questioning. “You have experience with babies?”

Pellaeon nodded. His mouth was dry, and he tried to work moisture back into it with no luck. Thrawn noticed and moved to help him take a few small sips of water. His pale blue hands were warm and steady as they held the cup and cupped the back of the captain’s head as he drank. “I have five nephews, two nieces, six great-nieces, and 5 great-nephews,” Pellaeon finally replied once moisture had been worked back into his mouth.

A single blue-black eyebrow arched in mild surprise. “Are any of them in the Fleet?” he asked.

“My oldest nephew did a tour of duty, but retired to go into politics like his father. My youngest nephew is still trying to decide if he wants to go into the military or politics – or something else. My older brothers went into politics along with my younger sister, but my younger two brothers are military men, though they're stationed closer to their homes so they can help out with their families. None of their children are old enough to fight.”

“Impressive,” Thrawn replied, his smile showing a hint of fondness.

“Thank you,” Pellaeon responded as he attempted to stifle a yawn and failed. Staying awake was no easy task right now, but he was so sick of sleeping, no matter how much the medics flat out insisted that he needed rest more than anything else right now.

Thrawn, apparently, was firmly on the side of the medics. Pellaeon should have expected that, after his own strict adherence to the doctor’s orders when their positions had been reversed a mere few weeks ago. “I should let you rest,” he remarked. “The medics said you'll likely be exhausted for another month or so.”

“And I have to spend most of it on bed rest,” Pellaeon grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest as though to shield himself from the displeasure and boredom to come.

Clearly amused, but apparently deciding to leave Pellaeon to his irritable mood until he fell asleep, Thrawn stood. “Yes, and they've already warned me that you'll be begging me for work to do within the week, or begging me to override their assessment of your physical condition so you can return to full duty before the medical experts on board are confident you’re capable of it.” This was definitely entertaining to Thrawn. “I have already given ship-wide orders that, for now, you are not to be bothered with anything work-related, and I'll stop the payment of anybody who disobeys me for the next year. Your orders are to rest, Captain. Commander Smith and I will keep you updated.”

Oh. Great. “You're all conspiring against me,” he complained as though he hadn’t done the exact same thing to his commanding officer and relished it exactly as much.

Grand Admiral Thrawn shrugged. “The medics and Commander Quenton assure me that your characteristic willfulness extends to recovering from situations such as this as well. I've been informed you have a habit of attempting to pull rank to get your way into escaping from sick bay. This time, Captain, your orders are to stay here, so that you may rest and heal enough to avoid passing out on the bridge in front of your crew.”

“Yes, sir,” he sighed as he caved. Thrawn had a good point, and it wouldn’t do to diminish his command authority. The sigh turned into a yawn that was big enough to make him a little dizzy. Thrawn rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, silently offering a bit of comfort. Blue skin was something most humans would expect to feel deathly cold, but Thrawn's hand was just as warm and comforting through the thin fabric of the white shirt the sick bay staff had put on him after surgery as it had been against his head. Not leaning slightly in to the touch was impossible in that moment, warm and sleepy as he was.

A moment was all it lasted, and then Thrawn was gone and Pellaeon was left alone to drift back into a restful sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We believe we have managed to determine their world of origin. While we would like to go chasing after them ourselves, I'm afraid your government might not allow us to proceed.” He pressed a button, and Leia leaned forward in anticipation as a hologram of a planet appeared over the table. There was a collective gasp, and then a long stretch of silence.
> 
> “Coruscant,” Wedge breathed. His eyes were wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pretty dumb, I just wanted an excuse to make Thrawn hold a baby.
> 
> Edited 04/19/15: Maximized Thrawn's baby holding potential. I am a slave to my uterus. Altered some of the conversation between Corran Horn and Thrawn. Changed some plot points. Squealed over Thrawn holding a baby.

It had taken quite a bit of convincing, but Thrawn had eventually capitulated and allowed Leia to contact Han and let him know they had experienced a delay, though not necessarily the entire nature of the delay. The _Chimaera's_ communications officer had been able to mask the origin of the transmission so it wouldn't be obvious she was on a Star Destroyer, but her clever husband was suspicious anyway. Han responded by arriving with Chewie, Lando, and every last member of Rogue Squadron. She had been on the _Chimaera_ with Luke to discuss the progress of the cleanup on the ground with Thrawn and Commander Smith when Han jumped into the system with his chosen escort. It had still taken her and Luke a good ten minutes to convince them that they were not being held aboard as prisoners, but all their attempts to explain that if they would just follow the instructions and dock, they would meet them right in the docking bay and explain everything failed. She didn’t blame them for their reservations. Had their situations been reversed she also would have been hesitant to dock with the Star Destroyer.

While they tried to convince him, Thrawn ordered one of the hangar bays cleared and a ready room off of it prepared for a large group. He seemed fairly certain that they would agree, at least, but Leia wasn't sure she shared his confidence.

Han put them on hold to discuss it with Lando and Chewie, and Leia had a feeling he was going to do something monumentally stupid. Right now, it seemed to her like they might have a chance for peace, and if he did whatever he was planning, that would go out the window. She had an idea, one that might lure him aboard, but it made her a little nervous, given the history between them. Thrawn seemed to pick on her visual cues, and stepped closer when she gestured him over to the aft bridge hologram pod. Well, if he tried anything, Luke, Han, and Rogue Squadron were right there.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Have you ever held a baby?”

“Many times,” Thrawn answered, clearly curious. “What do you have in mind?” 

“I've got a feeling that he's about to try something stupid. Having him see you hold one of the kids will remind him that there are other reasons to cooperate. I can't think of any other way to convince him to not do something rash. You talk to him.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “Understand that if you hurt her, you'll pay for it.”

Thrawn looked more amused than threatened by that, and took the baby Luke offered him, complete with burp cloth just in case Jaina decided to add some color to his nice, white uniform. For an Imperial who presumably had no spouse or children of his own, he was awfully good at handling an infant. It occurred to her that no one should look that good or charming holding a baby, and no one who had tried to kidnap two of them multiple times had any business handling those particular children with such natural ease. Jaina just stuffed her fist in her mouth and cooed up at him. The men around them seemed surprised that their leader had ever even been around a baby, let alone could maintain an air of authority while holding an infant and cooing softly back to it.

Even Captain Harbid seemed surprised, though entertained. She wondered what his second-in-command would think when word inevitably reached him down in sickbay. Gossip didn’t stay localized on ships. Leia figured she could ask Captain Pellaeon when she was finally allowed to see him again and thank him properly for saving her children, but she understood he was not up to visitors beyond one or two people yet.

Thrawn looked back up at her. “Do you think he'll listen to me?”

“He will if you're holding our daughter,” she informed him, shifted Jacen to her other shoulder. Jaina ate more than her brother, but he was growing a little faster than her anyway, as though determined to show her up in some way already.

“Very well,” he said, and stepped forward to the display to join the conversation. When the pause symbol vanished and Han's face came back, his jaw dropped and he gaped for a full minute.

Thrawn was a wise-tactician; she watched as he took advantage of her husband's silence, stopped cooing at the baby that was trying to devour his finger whole, and looked up at him. His face went from that of a serious military professional cooing at a baby as quietly as possible to avoid disturbing his crew to that of a charismatic politician in the span of a second. “Captain Solo,” he greeted charmingly, ignoring the way Luke was quietly stifling laughter at Han's face from behind them. “I would appreciate it if you and your party would join us aboard the _Chimaera_ so we can safely jump to hyperspace together if someone attempts to attack us or your family again.”

There was another moment of stunned silence, and then, “Yeah. Okay. Sure.”

“Shut down your engines, please. My tractor beam operators will pull your party in. Your family and I will meet you in the docking bay.” He waited until the stunned man had acknowledged and disconnected before he turned to pass the order on to Captain Harbid who passed it off to the man operating their portside tractor beams. 

After that, he turned back to Leia. “That was rather innovative of you,” he complimented. It was so strange to be reminded like this that the Imperials were people too. When she didn't reply right away, he gave her a small, amused smile. “You're wondering where an evil Imperial Warlord with no family could have possibly learned how to handle infants?” he guessed, and Leia nodded.

She considered her words carefully. “It's easy to forget sometimes that those on the other side of the war are also people with their own experiences and lives.”

There was no refuting that he seemed to appreciate the honesty, carefully expressed though it was. “It can be, yes,” he responded, glancing back down at Jaina as she cooed to get his attention and reached up to swat at his face. Probably going for his eyes, Leia thought. As much as the glow intimidated adults, her babies seemed happy to grab for them with no regard for what the blurry, glowing objects were. Thrawn hadn't made a move to give her back, and he wasn't harming her, so she decided to let him hold her awhile longer. Perhaps it would do the man some good. “Is that your way of pressing the issue?” he asked, though it was clear that he already knew the answer to that question.

Leia cracked a small smile. He was good at reading people, she'd give him that. It was a good thing he didn't have the Force on his side as well: Thrawn might well prove to be unstoppable if that were the case. “Yes,” she replied.

Thrawn gave her a considering look, but seemed to decided there was no harm in telling her something, though he did it quietly. “I was adopted into a rather large family in my youth, and have nieces and nephews of my own. Many of my men are fathers, and I've had the honor to spend time with some of their families as well, in the Unknown Regions and in the Empire proper.”

“I was under the impression the Empire didn't typically allow children near their forces.”

“It's a different set of circumstances,” Thrawn said, “and it's my Empire now, and therefore my rules. If my men perform better and are happier when they have time to see their families, then they get to spend time with their families.”

It surprised her, and it definitely showed on her face, but the conversation was interrupted by Captain Harbid. “Admiral, they're bringing them in now.”

“Signal Commander Smith and Lieutenant Ackerman to meet us in the hangar bay,” he directed. “Captain, you'll join us.”

Harbid nodded the order off to one of the commanders – the one she recognized from Tattooine, and joined her, Luke, Thrawn, and the two young officers who seemed to be on bodyguard duty today alongside the stormtroopers. The two ensigns were young, definitely no older than twenty-five. She did like seeing that there were women in important positions serving aboard the _Chimaera_ now, and that they seemed to be treated just as well as their male counterparts. The young woman on duty today had short black hair, slightly tanned skinned, and a very serious demeanor that reminded her Lieutenant Ackerman. With her was a young man with short blonde hair and a darker shade to his undercut. They were two of the guards that she recognized had accompanied him to the planet's surface, and whenever they thought their senior officers weren't looking, they glanced curiously at the babies.

Jacen was starting to feel a little too heavy in her arms, and she passed him off to his uncle. Both hands would likely be needed to calm or hug Han. Thrawn held Jaina without complaint, and didn't seem to mind being chewed on and cooed to, or talking back to her. Harbid had the look of a man who was planning to tell this to somebody else later, probably, she suspected, he would be telling Captain Pellaeon all about it, and she wondered what he would think about this.

When they stepped off the turbolift, Commander Smith was waiting for them with Lieutenant Ackerman armed and standing a few steps behind him and to his right. “They refuse to come out of their ships until they see you're really here, Councilor,” he explained, blue eyes locking onto the babies. He also seemed to be hiding a smile at the sight of his commander being chewed on by an infant. 

“A reasonable precaution,” Thrawn responded as they stepped into the hangar bay and approached the Falcon together. Jaina was incredibly interested in all the new sights she could barely make out, but was also making the occasional grab for Grand Admiral Thrawn's code cylinders and rank bar. Her hand was calmly and gently deflected each time.

Once Han and the others saw them, they cautiously came out of their ships, and banded together in front of them. He grabbed Leia and gave her a tight hug before pulling away and staring Thrawn down. Even with Jaina holding his finger hostage to suck on it, he looked positively regal. Rather than holding Jaina detracting from the aura of authority he naturally gave off, it made him look even more assured and in control. She heard one of the members of Rogue Squadron mutter about how weirdly attractive that was before they were hushed by Wedge. 

Thrawn's group stepped closer now, his bodyguards sticking close behind him, with Harbid now on his right and Smith at his left. Ackerman was behind him and to the side, where he would be able to slide in to stop any threats. He was also armed this time, and the blaster at his waist looked as though it had been modified slightly. “Welcome aboard the _Chimaera_ ,” Thrawn greeted, and gestured slightly with Jaina. “If you wouldn't mind taking her, Captain Solo?” 

As though suspecting a trick, Han cautiously stepped forward and took his daughter, who seemed delighted to see him. He looked relieved to see her. Leia glanced up at Thrawn, wondering if he had held her that long solely to put her directly in Han's arm to reassure him, or if it was more to deter him from doing something stupid. 

The Grand Admiral ignored the obvious tension from the rest of the men, turned up the charm to a reasonable level, and introduced himself and his group properly to the rest of them, including the ensigns charged with ensuring his continued existence and his generally undamaged state of being. She introduced everyone in her group, and when the niceties were out of the way, he led them to the ready room that had been prepared earlier. Jaina fell asleep on the way there, and she was glad for that. Han probably wouldn't even raise his voice now. Children really were a miracle.

She let the Imperials catch her friends and family up to speed, more interested in watching their reactions to the news than hearing it all again. Corran Horn had the strangest look on his face whenever he looked at the Grand Admiral. Thrawn had looked him over and summarily dismissed him, but something about Corran's face... Did he know something about Thrawn that the rest of them didn’t? She made a mental note to ask him later, and turned her attention back to the briefing. 

It turned out that not much had changed since she had last spoken with them about the attack. Though Intelligence knew precious little thanks to the damage that the mysterious attackers had done to their own computers, they had been able to confirm the rumors of their presence in a few previous systems they had tried to track them to. She'd expected that to be all, until Commander Smith turned the briefing over to Grand Admiral Thrawn.

“We believe we have managed to determine their world of origin. While we would like to go chasing after them ourselves, I'm afraid your government might not allow us to proceed.” He pressed a button, and Leia leaned forward in anticipation as a hologram of a planet appeared over the table. There was a collective gasp, and then a long stretch of silence.

“Coruscant,” Wedge breathed. His eyes were wide. 

Thrawn nodded. “As it stands, this appears to be where the trail ends. Strategically, it makes sense. If the target was Councilor Organa Solo, Master Skywalker, and the children, someone on Coruscant would have the means to determine her schedule and notify others in the group. It's a good city in which to hide a large number of people, and I imagine most of the lowest levels are still wholly unexplored and unmapped by your government. There have also been rumors coming out of the city's underground for years that the remnants of the Jedi Order's library were moved to the lower levels to keep them safe from the Emperor and Lord Vader.” Thrawn hesitated, glanced quickly at Luke, and then pressed on. “Located among the remains of that library may have been a list of every Force-sensitive child in the galaxy at the time. It seems reasonable to infer that they may be searching for it to add to their ranks or have already found it.”

Thrawn paused to let the others in the room murmur in shock. Luke and Leia glanced at each other, and she could see the hope in his eyes at the thought of such a list or a cache of information. It was good news for them, and she could see why he'd hesitate to give it to them. She only hoped his hesitance was real, and not some careful constructed act by the gifted tactician.

The murmuring died down after a couple of minutes, and Corran spoke up, eyes carefully watching Thrawn's face for a reaction. “You think they've infiltrated our government,” he stated flatly, “or the military.”

If Corran was looking for more than a look of acknowledgement and a nod at his deduction, he didn't get one. “It's likely they’ve managed to infiltrate both,” he confidently replied. “Your government is the more likely and more sensible target. If anyone Force-sensitive were attempting to take over somewhere, those people would have a challenging time finding sympathy or trust among Imperial troops especially among those of us who served directly under Lord Vader and knew his temper well. Captain Harbid and Captain Pellaeon both served under him and other Jedi for years, even during the Clone Wars, and can tell – and have told – any number of horror stories about their experiences to young and impressionable members of their crews.”

Harbid made a face, as though he really didn't want to be reminded about it. “Captain Pellaeon really did serve under General Skywalker during the Clone Wars?” she asked incredulously. Luke had said so, but it just hadn’t seemed likely that their paths would cross so often in such a large galaxy.

“If you're still here when he's finally allowed visitors, you should ask him about it. He has quite a few good stories involving the late General Skywalker.” He gave her a small, charming smile, and turned his attention back to the group at large. “But we're here to discuss a present problem, not the past. It's clear these attackers don't care who they hurt to get what they want. They collapsed the entire Nystao spaceport before they were gunned down by Noghri. Allowing them to run free as they are right now presents a grave threat to all of us, no matter our ideological differences.”

Thrawn pressed his lips into a thin line and looked around the room at the assembled men, women and aliens. “I know we have our grievances, but I should hope that we're all capable of working together as adults to protect the galaxy as a whole. They cannot run around unchecked. Master Skywalker?”

Luke nodded and took a deep breath. She could sense his unease as he put forth the plan that he and Grand Admiral Thrawn had concocted and reached out to him with the Force to try to reassure him. “I can sense their minds if I can get close enough to the group. I made the suggestion to Grand Admiral Thrawn, and he agreed, that taking small force to Coruscant to try to ferret them out might work best.”

Jensen frowned. “And who will this small group consist of?”

“Myself, two of you, and two personnel from the Chimaera.”

It was Han who really spoke up to protest. “That sounds way too dangerous. It would be just you and four other people against a group of really determined Jedi, and you have no idea how powerful any of them are.”

“It's necessary,” Luke argued calmly, “and they may not be Jedi. We don't know anything about their beliefs or why they specifically went for the spaceport; they could have been after Jacen and Jaina and if they were, they'll probably try again. It's a pretty safe bet they weren't after Captain Pellaeon – who saved Jacen's and Jaina's lives, by the way – because the _Chimaera_ hadn't planned to come here.”

“Meaning that however they found out where Luke and I were, it had to be from a spy inside the Inner Council,” Leia finished for Luke. Her tone was quiet, grave, and that meant it was perfectly honest in conveying how she felt about that.

Commander Smith picked it up from there. “The councilor has provided me with the rest of her schedule stops, and we have already sent several capable scout ships out to search along those vectors and to check the final destinations. If they're waiting for another chance to attack, we'll be able to warn her and to come up with a plan of attack to capture them.”

Jaina stirred a little in Han's arms, and he responded by shifting her to his shoulder and patting her back. Han gave Leia a disbelieving look like she was utterly betraying them all and siding with the Empire, and she had a feeling they were going to have words about this later. “I don't understand what the Empire is getting out of this,” he said bluntly. “If they're after my family, and they're in our territory and not yours, then what do you gain? How do we know you're not in league with them and looking to hand my family over them in exchange for their services?”

If the question – a jibe at Thrawn's use of the insane clone of the Jedi Master Jorus C'baoth – had annoyed or upset Thrawn in any way, the Grand Admiral didn't show it at all in his tone or body language. Leia had been trying to get a read on his emotions with the Force, but his mental defenses were too good. She tried turned her attention to his subordinates, but Harbid and Smith didn't even so much as twitch. “After having to tolerate Master C'baoth for months on end, I have no desire to work so closely with someone so dangerously ambitious ever again. The capture orders on your family were lifted weeks ago.” He paused and quirked an eyebrow at Han. 

“And since he's dead you decided to just let them go?” Lando asked.

Thrawn nodded. “Correct. I have no personal quarrel against any of you, and it would be foolish of me to waste our valuable people and resources on a manhunt that won't do us any good if it succeeds. I've also had them here for several days, and have not harmed them at all. As to what the Empire gets out of this, we get to eliminate a threat to our people before they can cause too much damage. We get information, and perhaps more, depending on the outcome of our relationship with your government when this mess is sorted.”

Han still didn't look satisfied, but he was plenty willing to let it go for the rest of the tactical meeting it seemed. He nodded, and dropped it.

– – –

The Rebels decided to accept Thrawn's invitation to spend the night on the ship to make it safer and easier to meet again the next day, and he in turn had given them access to a few of the ship's facilities, such as the mess halls, bunks, and refreshers. They were under heavy guard, but that didn't stop Corran from making his way to the one observation area they were permitted to access with his stormtrooper guide. He needed to get away from the arguing of his companions for a while, and this sounded like a good place to clear his head. Maybe the grand admiral had known or suspected he would come up, because he was the only other person in the room. Thrawn dismissed the guard with a wave of his hand when he saw who his guest was, and the stormtrooper stepped out. Two young officers still stood guard behind Thrawn, but the alien took no notice of them. Corran glanced at them once, and then decided to follow Thrawn’s lead.

Everything about the way he sat reminded Corran of a particular “bounty hunter” he’d once met during his time working for CorSec. He had one leg crossed over the other, but his posture was still military-perfect, his eyes and face alert despite the dim lighting in the room. Thrawn was seated in a chair facing the large viewport with the dirty brown planet below and a field of stars beyond, but he seemed to be more focused on his data pad and a stack of data cards next to him than he was the view. “It's been a long time, Corran Horn,” Thrawn greeted. 

“I knew you weren't Jodo Kast,” Corran muttered, his suspicions confirmed. He accepted Thrawn's gestured invitation to the opposite chair, and sat down.

“You and your father were both fairly sharp. I was sorry to read about his passing,” he commented. “When I saw you in the hangar bay I knew you would eventually figure out why my voice seemed familiar.”

The tone was so damn polite and cultured that it took Corran a second to notice the sincerity underneath what sounded like simple flattery. “Thank you.” If nothing else, Thrawn seemed to be genuine in his condolences.

Startlingly comfortable silence reigned between them for a moment as Corran looked out at the planet below and its desolate surface. The Empire had done that. “Why did you take the mission back then?”

Thrawn glanced up at him again with a smile that wasn't what he would consider friendly, but it wasn't quite unkind either. “It was a favor for Lord Vader, in exchange for him gifting me with the Noghri. I thought it best to take care of it personally and expediently to avoid being in his debt any longer than necessary.”

“Makes sense, given everything I've ever heard about him,” Corran replied. Not once had he heard anybody say how much they liked the man. “I'd like to ask you another question, if I may.”

“Go ahead.”

Corran leaned forward a little in his seat. “Why did you join the Empire, given their stance on non-Humans?”

“There are many non-Humans in the Empire,” Thrawn dodged. He pressed his lips together for a moment as he considered the question, and Corran got the feeling no one ever really dared to ask him about it. The man seemed to decide there wasn't any harm in giving him some answer to the question after a moment. “I will tell you that I remain because a democracy like the Republic will not work sufficiently well enough in a galaxy so large, not with so many different races and cultures to defend against serious threats and against each other. The Old Republic was an excellent example of that. I may have had my disagreements with some of Emperor Palpatine's policies – particularly against non-Humans – but aside from his blatant discrimination we shared a similar vision with a similar understanding of what threats the future might hold.”

Threats, huh? Had he imagined the briefest look of fear on the alien's face? Probably. Men like Thrawn didn't show fear, especially not to an enemy, even if they'd worked well together once in the past. “Such as?” he prompted when Thrawn didn't elaborate.

“Corellians and their curiosity,” Thrawn muttered with a slight shake of his head, though there didn't seem to be any actual frustration or malice there. Corran thought he saw a hint of fondness on the other man’s face. It was possible, he supposed. The Imperial military was just as full of Corellians as the New Republic’s military. Thrawn turned his attention back to the data pad. “It's too soon to worry about those. For now, there's another problem on our hands that must be dealt with swiftly. There's no need to overextend our resources worrying about what has not yet come to pass or may not come at all.”

“I suppose you're right about that,” he conceded, and shifted position slightly as he changed the topic. He got the feeling Thrawn wasn't going to answer any more questions on the topic even if he pressed him for answers. There were other rumors he could try to get confirmation on while he was here. “I heard you were in the Unknown Regions before you were promoted to your current rank. What's it like out there?”

“Beautiful,” Thrawn answered him, signing off on something. “There are thousands of worlds unexplored and uninhabited, and even more that are inhabited by interesting and intelligent life forms.” His lip quirked upward slightly, though he didn't look up. “Some of the cultures have artists that could have given Venthan Chassu a run for his money... and some that would have made Zekka Thyne's taste in art and décor look rather high class.”

Corran blanched at the memory. “Don't remind me,” he said. “I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that, but that doesn't mean I can't try. 'Taste' is way too generous a word to describe the horrors he enjoyed.”

Thrawn snorted softly, and switched out the data cards. “Too true. I spent hours looking at _actual_ art when I returned to the _Admonitor_ in an attempt to get the memory out of my mind. I still think of it sometimes, and it's still horrifying.”

“Some things are too disgusting to ever forget,” Corran commented. Thrawn’s comments were becoming briefer, and he had a gut feeling that he was close to overstaying his welcome in this room. He stood and stretched. “I suppose I should head back before they start to think you've killed me.”

“I'm too busy running an Empire to murder anybody tonight,” Thrawn replied dryly, looking up at him. “I imagine your own top military officers have plenty of their own administrative work to do – and that's only for a military.”

Corran frowned as he brought his attention fully back to Thrawn’s face. “So you have to handle the political stuff too?”

“Some of it. The Moffs all allied with other factions after the Battle of Endor, though we do have governors in place on all worlds. I prefer to leave the systems and our governors to their cultures’ own politics and government, but sometimes someone of a higher authority needs to step in and mediate. Sleep well, Corran. You have a long day ahead of you. We'll speak again tomorrow.”

That was a dismissal. Thrawn was clearly done with answering his questions for now, but there seemed to be an open invitation to continue the conversation tomorrow. He nodded, acknowledging the unspoken request to leave. “Goodnight,” he said, not sure what else to say, and let his escort take him back to the others, trying to fit the conversation and the memory of Thrawn masquerading as Jodo Kast with his current image of the man in charge of the Galactic Empire before the next round of meetings and planning started tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got some new RP blogs. You should check them out and send me asks, even anonymously if you must:
> 
> [Ask-the-Empire](http://ask-the-empire.tumblr.com). Ask it anything you want!  
> [RP blog for Captain Pellaeon](http://captain-pellaeon.tumblr.com). Asks, RPs, gardening.  
> [RP blog for Grand Admiral Thrawn](http://greatest-military-mind.tumblr.com). Art, asks, RPs.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their eyes locked, Thrawn's expression rather unreadable, Pellaeon clearly unhappy with the situation. After a moment, Thrawn spoke again. “I'm sorry, Captain, that we failed to get to you sooner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love you guys, here's chapter 10. Finally. Some of you will be glad to hear that it's about to start getting gay.
> 
> Edit: 05/24/2015: Did some word changing, altered a couple of sentences to adjust characterization.

When the second meeting with the Rebels had adjourned, Pellaeon had expected Grand Admiral Thrawn, Captain Harbid, and Commander Smith to return to their duties, and that any news wouldn’t come until sometime after evening meal from Commander Smith as a written or verbal report. He wasn't expecting Captain Harbid to come down only an hour after the end of the second meeting with a sly smile across his old face as he passed his fellow captain a smuggled data pad. It turned out the data pad held security holo footage from the bridge of his ship from yesterday of Thrawn holding one of the Organa Solo babies. He definitely wasn't expecting to see their commander talking to her or letting her chew on his finger, and he let Harbid enjoy his reaction as the much older man told him the story that went along with the video. Considering everything that had happened leading up to C'baoth's destruction, Pellaeon was surprised Organa Solo had even insisted Thrawn hold her, never mind that it had worked out well for getting the child’s father aboard the ship. 

Even more surprising was that seeing his commanding officer holding a baby like it was the most normally thing in the galaxy for a grand admiral to do on the bridge of his flagship was weirdly attractive.

Harbid left the data pad, news that Thrawn had been made to hold the baby again today (and some footage of that), a few written reports and some other things for Pellaeon to look over, and left. He hadn't even been gone for fifteen minutes when Thrawn himself came down, and Pellaeon had to quickly tuck the data pad and cards out of sight and try to look innocent. “Admiral,” he greeted, and tried to keep a straight face. Pellaeon knew the reason Thrawn's rank bar was slightly askew was from an infant batting at the bright colors, and the idea of it was very entertaining. 

Thrawn took a good look at his face as he pulled the chair (a much more comfortable model this time, at Pellaeon’s dogged insistence) closer to the bed. “Captain Harbid was here, wasn't he?” he guessed.

“He thought I would enjoy the looks on the bridge crews' faces at the sight of you cooing at an infant.”

A sigh was his response. “He would. Harbid refuses to believe that it’s been quite some time since I last held an infant. Apparently I’m ‘a natural’ at it.”

“Did the last one leave your rank bar crooked too?” Pellaeon asked, gesturing toward it. “Because this one definitely did.”

“Ah, so Jacen did,” he said, and straightened it. “If you're feeling rested enough for it later, I believe Skywalker and his sister intend to ask you some questions about what their father was like during the Clone Wars. I imagine I could convince her to bring the infants along, if you wish.”

Pellaeon made a face. That wasn't a time in his life he liked thinking about these days. “If I'm still awake,” he said, and changed the topic so he wouldn’t have to dwell on it. “Speaking of rest, Admiral, have you managed a full night of sleep yet?”

“It's been awhile, but I'm fine,” Thrawn assured him calmly. “I'm more concerned with your health right now.”

“I've never felt better,” Pellaeon responded dryly. There was no ignoring that was still nearly as pale as the bed sheets, could barely sit without being hit by an awful dizzy spell and a headache, and was still suffering all the symptoms that followed a concussion and massive blood loss, and Thrawn shook his head. “With all due respect, sir, you're the one that needs to be resting. I’m getting far more sleep in here than I’ve ever hoped for or wanted.” He recalled the words Thrawn had used on him when he'd been recovering from a knife through the heart with an amused glint in his eyes. This was a pretty similar conversation.

Thrawn raised an eyebrow at the reprimand and gave him an amused smirk. “I recall saying something similar to you not too long ago. How interesting it is that our situations are completely reversed now.”

Pellaeon gave him what was supposed to be a dirty look, but was ruined by a small yawn. “I knew it. You're enjoying this,” he accused when the yawn had passed.

A pacifying smile was his response. “Only the humor of it. I'm displeased that you were so badly hurt in the attack. The medics informed me that you lost nearly two liters of blood, and they're still rather worried about your concussion, but said they couldn't determine the scope of the damage until you had been awake for a day or two.”

Their eyes locked, Thrawn's expression rather unreadable, Pellaeon clearly unhappy with the situation. After a moment, Thrawn spoke again. “I'm sorry, Captain, that we failed to get to you sooner.”

Ah. They seemed to keep circling back to this. Pellaeon looked down at his hands, at the IV pumping fluid into him to counteract the dehydration and blood loss. “It was my own fault, Admiral. I should have waited for backup, or returned to the bridge and sent a squad of stormtroopers to investigate instead of looking into it while alone and unarmed.”

“If you had they might have injured or killed many people trying to get to you and get you off the ship,” Thrawn pointed out. “Don't blame yourself for this. This may turn out to be more beneficial than I originally thought.”

How were there any possible benefits to this? “Are you going to share with me?” Pellaeon asked, not expecting the forthcoming answer that he received. 

Thrawn leaned forward. “Are you aware of the Emperor's early attempts to create his own brand of Jedi?”

Pellaeon's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I heard rumors during the Clone Wars about Force-sensitive children being kidnapped by a Sith Lord. The Jedi Generals I served under suggested the children were being subjected to some kind of experimentation when General Skywalker found them.”

“That's correct,” Thrawn said, “at least in part. The initial experiments were eventually scrapped in favor of trying to isolate which gene caused the excess of midichlorians that cause the ability to manipulate the Force and to determine if the introduction of that gene into a person at different stages of their life could cause a significant amount of Force-sensitivity in those who had none or only a little before the experiment.”

That was a surprising enough revelation that Pellaeon reflexively attempted to sit up, only to find Thrawn had moved when his vision had blurred to press him down gently back into the pillows. “No, stay down,” Thrawn chided. “Do you need me to call the medics?”

“No,” Pellaeon said, making a face at the threat in the seemingly innocent suggestion. Being poked and prodded by them was had lost its charm, and Pellaeon easily lost his patience with medics that had no respect for his rank because they clearly knew best. Besides, if they were called in to intervene (most likely intravenously), the Grand Admiral would pull away, and Thrawn's hands felt pleasantly warm on his shoulders when his body was constantly chilled. Those same medics he loathed had informed him that the chill would last for some time and was due to the loss of blood. They kept warm blankets piled on him, but it never felt like enough.

He wasn't really given a choice though. Once his commander seemed satisfied that Pellaeon was settled and wouldn’t attempt to sit up again Thrawn resumed his seat and his story. “The experiment saw some success last I heard of it. I was never told where exactly it was based and the location of it was never recorded in the Special Files section that contained the report. I'm not sure if it continued after the Battle of Endor; however, knowing that Lord Vader destroyed enough of the Jedi that it seems unlikely these young soldiers are survivors of that genocide.”

“So we have to find the planet the experiments were conducted on?”

Thrawn favored him with a smile that Pellaeon thought looked fond, though he supposed that could have been the drugs talking. “We may have a lead. Commander Smith has been hearing rumors about the project for a while, both on his home planet and all the way out here. Aside from that, while you were imprisoned on the surface, Ensign Jaeger managed to throw another ensign into a wall a good five meters away, seemingly with just his mind.”

Well. Pellaeon felt his jaw drop. “I take it no one knew he could do that?”

“No. Even Ensign Jaeger had no idea. I've been speaking with his friends and squad members, and they say he's been acting very strangely since his last shore leave, sometimes aggressive, and at other times solemn and quiet. Several members of our Intelligence section are from that same system, including Commander Smith, who has said in the past that he remembers hearing some rumors about people using the Force on Maria who couldn’t before they had been seeing doing so.” 

That wasn't a planet he remembered ever hearing about. “Where's that?”

“It's in the Titan system. Titan has three habitable planets: Maria, Rose, and Sina. The moon orbiting Sina has served as an Imperial base in the past, before a garrison was built on each planet. It's also not on any major trade routes, is almost entirely self-sufficient, and is not a system the Rebels would ever consider an important target.”

Ah. “In other words, it's a nice, quiet system, out of the way, free of trade, where nobody would pay it any attention – like Wayland.”

Thrawn nodded. “Correct. Jaeger is from the outermost of the habitable planets, Maria. It's also the poorest of the three, with fewer material resources, less defenses, and the largest percentage of the system's population. What can you infer from that?”

At least Thrawn was giving him something to exercise his mind. Pellaeon had been getting bored. After a moment spent quietly thinking over what Thrawn had told him, he thought he had a good guess at the answer the grand admiral was seeking from him. “It would be an easy location to hide something like human experimentation because of the size of the population and its placement in the system: enemies would expect a project like that to be further inward in the system where it can be better protected by the worlds preceding it. The size of the population is probably also how they get their subjects. They can pick and choose with a large population and if it’s no more than a few dozen citizens reported as missing or dead every year no one would consider it unusual enough to bother making a report to a higher authority than that on Sina.”

“Very good, Captain,” Thrawn praised, eyes on the captain’s cheeks as they tinted slightly with color. Praise from Thrawn was not something to which he had yet adjusted. “I've given the Rebels some other leads to chase down that should keep them well away from Titan long enough for us to make our investigation. I'm not sure they'll find any connections elsewhere, but it's worth checking out.”

Pellaeon raised an eyebrow. “And while they're chasing ghosts, we go to the Titan system?”

“No.” Thrawn shook his head. “The Rebels will likely try to track us at first to ascertain whether or not we're telling them the entire truth. I'm sending Intelligence teams out to try to find out more from their back trail, but we will resume our scheduled flight plan for now, and continue to reassess our situation. I want us to be ready to betray the Rebels at the most opportune moment to turn the war in our favor. We'll need them off their guard for this, and we need to keep Skywalker from convincing these Force-sensitives to join his side.”

It made sense. Jedi, he knew from prior experience, were formidable and typically unorthodox opponents. If the Rebellion got its hands on enough of them and indoctrinated them properly, even Thrawn's tactical genius might not save the Empire. Pellaeon wasn't sure the risks of betraying the Rebels on this outweighed the potential benefits, but he was tired enough and still insecure enough from the aftermath of his kidnapping and injuries to worry about saying anything on the off-chance Thrawn was upset with him and just hadn't seen a benefit to admitting it yet. No. He remembered how his well-founded fears about C'baoth were brushed aside, and he decided to keep his mouth shut until he had evidence and good leverage to back up his own position on the issue.

“Do we even know where on Maria this facility would be?” Pellaeon asked, and then covered up a yawn with a hand, using it to try to give himself to make sure his composure was intact from the thought that he might have disappointed Thrawn.

Thrawn exhaled softly. Pellaeon watched him carefully as he lowered his hand, and decided with no small amount of relief that Thrawn hadn’t noticed his momentary lapse in composure. “We don't, but once the Rebels have stopped tailing us, we can go to Yaga Minor and access the Special Files to look for information. Of course, we'll have to find a way to convince them to leave us alone. Skywalker and his sister been trying to stick as close as possible to me since the attack, as though they think they can talk me over to their side using what happened against us.”

A lot had happened. He lowered his eyes back to his lap. If Thrawn was hiding his anger, Pellaeon could hardly blame him for it – he was still angry with himself. Imperial soldiers had died because they were here when they weren't supposed to be. Good soldiers, good people, with families that would need to be informed of their losses. There would be grieving wives, children, parents...

Because of him.

Pellaeon hadn’t realized that he was too tired to do a good job of containing or hiding his emotions (though he certainly tried), and his hands curled into fists against the sheets. As a senior officer, he should have known better. He should have – 

“Stop it,” Thrawn commanded him softly. Pellaeon wasn't able to tell for sure if the taller man hesitated before moving due to his vision choosing that moment to blur a little, but a moment later Thrawn's pale blue hands covered his own. The Grand Admiral uncurled his fists, checked to make sure his IV hadn't shifted out of place from the movement, and then turned Pellaeon's hands over to make sure he hadn't broken the skin with his nails.

Satisfied that his protégé hadn't caused any damage to himself, Thrawn placed Pellaeon's hands back down on his lap. “Now who's punishing himself?” Thrawn scolded him. “This is _not_ your fault. What's done is done – I need you to let this go. The only person still upset with you is you.”

His hands still rested over the captain's in an oddly comforting way. “Yes, sir,” Pellaeon responded. “I'll work on it.”

“You'll have plenty of time to come to the same conclusions I've already drawn as you recover. I'll be down to see you when I can – I don't want you working, but I want to keep you up to speed.”

Maybe a change of topic would help him relax. Not working brought up a question he'd been meaning to ask, so he took the chance to worry about something easier to deal with and asked it. “Who's going to be running my ship? Harbid? Quenton? You?” Harbid had his own ship and task force to worry about, though, and Pellaeon was sure he'd insist on going back at some point. His own first officer could likely handle some of it, but Pellaeon was unsure about just suddenly putting all of the responsibility on the man. 

“Quenton. He and I will split your duties down the middle until I'm confident he can handle them on his own. I've been planning to open promotions up for some time now, so we may as well go ahead and start by promoting him to Captain. I'll let you select which duty officer is promoted to third officer.” Thrawn's eyes were intense on his face, watching as Pellaeon tried to decide between the two choices he had in mind.

“Junior Commander Hannes,” he decided. “He's got the most experience and the bridge crew is still in need of someone who will drill them from time to time.”

But wait. If Thrawn was promoting Quenton to captain and another officer to junior commander under Commander Ardiff, what did that mean for him? Pellaeon gave him a suspicious look. Hadn't he just said he wasn't angry? So then why wasn't Pellaeon going to remain captain? 

Thrawn nodded and pulled back with a satisfied look on his face. “I had guessed as much,” he confessed. “An excellent decision... Admiral.”

Did Thrawn just–?

“Sir?” he asked, eyes wide. Thrawn had outright told him before that he intended to coach Pellaeon into the position, but he hadn't expected it to come so soon. Pellaeon had been kidnapped the same day they had discussed it. There were four ranks between captain and admiral. Moving up that quickly outside of serving directly under Lord Vader was entirely unheard of as far as he knew.

“You heard me correctly,” he said with a smile. “You've been in the service of the Empire for far too long to only hold the rank of captain, and you were more than willing to give up your life for the good of the Empire. I insist you accept the promotion, and ask that you stay aboard the _Chimaera_ with me, at least for a few more months. There is a lot I'll need to teach you.”

Pellaeon was genuinely floored. “I... yes, sir,” he managed, once his mouth and brain agreed to work in unison again. “Thank you, sir.”

“You've earned it. I can think of no one more deserving of the title. When you're well enough to return to duty, you'll begin the proper training for the position.”

His cheeks flushed a little at the praise, which he imagined must have looked pretty obvious against the pallor of his skin. “I could help with little things now – such as your portion of Captain Quenton's workload. I can handle anything that doesn't require me leaving the bed.” A smile crossed his lips as he recalled Thrawn's least favorite medical term. “'Light' duty, as the medics say.”

Grand Admiral Thrawn gave him a halfhearted glare. “You know how I feel about that term,” he replied crossly.

Of course Pellaeon knew. He had been present for the entire dressing down the medics received, after all. Receiving a response like that only made his sleepy smile grow. “I know,” he admitted, “and I can convince the other senior officers to use it as often as possible if you don't give in to my one very reasonable demand.”

“Are you threatening mutiny?” Thrawn asked in mock disbelief. “Really, Admiral Pellaeon, that has to be the most creative coup I've been threatened with yet.”

Being addressed like that nearly threw him off – likely what Thrawn had intended. Pellaeon snorted and refused to lose his composure. “At least it will be an entertaining one when the rest of us get to watch you make that face every time you hear those two words used consecutively.” The smile faded after a moment, and he gave Thrawn a more serious look.

“I just want to feel like I'm doing something useful when I _am_ awake, sir. After everything that happened, all those days probably spent bored out of my mind in my cell and suffering from hunger and dehydration... I can't feel content just lying here.” He gave Thrawn the most pathetic, tired face he could muster. Thrawn could be ruthless, but he had a tendency to reward subordinates who deserved it, and Pellaeon suspected he could use that against him.

Silence filled the air between them for a solid two minutes as Thrawn mulled it over before he relented. “You make an excellent point, however much I might not like the idea of having you focused on something besides healing.” Thrawn shifted to rest his boot-clad ankle over his knee. “Very well. In a day or two, when you're capable of staying awake for a more sizable amount of time, I'll find a few things for you to do.”

Despite his knowledge of how to get his way, a compromise was the last thing Pellaeon had expected. Honestly, he'd been expected to be threatened with watching crappy holo dramas until his body recovered – the same threat he'd used on Thrawn during his own recovery and then had the backbone to follow through with. “Thank you, sir,” he breathed, and relaxed a little more into the pillow. As much as he might usually enjoy the downtime, this was one of those occasions where he couldn't stand by and relax while others went after this new threat to the Empire Grand Admiral Thrawn had worked so hard to rebuild.

“It's the least I can do,” Thrawn answered with a kind smile.

There wasn't anything Pellaeon could think of to say to that, so they sat in comfortable silence, Pellaeon contenting himself with listening to the sound of his commanding officer’s steady breathing. Something about the Grand Admiral's quiet company was strangely relaxing, and it wasn't long before Pellaeon began to doze. The Grand Admiral was still sitting with him when he slipped into a deep sleep.

– – –

It had taken hours to cross-check all of their lists and run them passed another set of trusted eyes, but finally, Erwin had a projected number of traitors and several leads as to who was involved. Protocol dictated that such important news be delivered in person, but Erwin couldn't find the Grand Admiral and he wasn't answering his comlink. Having exhausted all other obvious possibilities, Erwin headed down to sick bay. Thrawn had been spending as much time as the medics and his duties allowed with Captain Pellaeon, keeping him up to speed and returning the favor of keeping him company that the captain had done for him after Rukh’s betrayal. Though it was well into the ship’s night, Erwin judged there was a strong possibility Thrawn was still down there since he didn’t seem to be anywhere else. He ignored the stormtrooper guard as he quietly entered the room.

Both of his superiors were fast asleep in the darkened room. Pellaeon's chest rose and fell nearly synchronously with the quiet, steady beeping of the equipment that was still monitoring his condition around the clock. He still looked incredibly pale and gaunt from his the blood loss and his ordeal on the surface, and it was difficult to see such a tough, willful man suffering. In the chair immediately next to the bed was the elusive Grand Admiral. One of his legs was crossed casually over the other at the knee and ankle, his arms were folded over his chest, and he had slouched down enough in the high-backed chair that his head was resting against the back. Even with his eyes closed, the glow of them was slightly visible - like little red crescent moons against his cheekbones - something Erwin found a little off-putting.

It was probably the first decent sleep Thrawn had managed in a couple of weeks. Erwin was loathe to wake him, but this was important.

He lightly placed a hand on Thrawn's shoulder. “Admiral,” he murmured, “I have news regarding the traitors.”

Thrawn's head jerked upright as his eyes opened. As absolutely fascinating as it was to see his prestigious commander doing something as mundane as waking up from a sound sleep, Erwin knew better than to show a reaction to it. Those intimidating eyes focused on Erwin as the commander dropped his hand and snapped to attention.

“At rest,” Thrawn murmured. He gestured to the chair across from him, seemingly not at all inclined to move from his position otherwise. 

Erwin then passed his data pad to Thrawn and then sat as quietly as he could and observed the grand admiral’s condition. The man wasn't wearing his uniform gloves at the moment and Erwin could see the pale blue sheen of his long, lean hands in the dim light from the monitors and low-level lights. Though he’d just woken up, it was easy to see that Thrawn was better rested than he had been in days. His hair had its sheen back, his red eyes no longer appeared gaunt and sunken in the way Captain Pellaeon’s still did, and he seemed still and at peace. It was a far cry from the barely-hidden exhaustion he’d suffered for the last few weeks, and Erwin was pleased to see him recovering from the situation as his second-in-command healed. The grand admiral silently skimmed the report, then with a satisfied nod, passed the data pad back to Erwin, though he moved as little as possible to do it. “And all three are from Maria?” he inquired quietly.

“Yes, sir,” Erwin replied just as softly to avoid waking Pellaeon. “All three are from the same village, roughly a dozen kilometers to the south of Jaeger's. It's definitely the sort of place I would hide a large-scale facility, considering the mountainous terrain.” Finding the report on the topography of the small area didn't take but a moment: he pulled it up and passed it back to Thrawn. The short report was a quick read, and he passed the data pad back after only a minute so he could settle more comfortably into his chair.

“Interesting. These three – a lieutenant in the stormtrooper corps and two of your own agents are your prime suspects?”

Erwin nodded and winced a little. How embarrassing for Intelligence to have a leak like that. “Yes, Admiral. They're all incredibly well-trained, and they're some of our top agents. All three graduated within the top five percent of their class. Lieutenant Annie Leonhart graduated second in the class.”

Thrawn looked impressed. “Who was first?”

“Ensign Mikasa Ackerman, Lieutenant Ackerman's niece. According to Captain Shardis, she and Lieutenant Leonhart never got along for some reason.”

A rather lazy-looking shrug was Thrawn's response. “I doubt it matters. Have everyone from that graduating class undergo a blood test – not just our ship, every ship in the fleet – along with the stormtroopers and command staff from every ship. If they get too pushy for information instruct the medics and squad leaders to say that we're concerned a virus may have come on board. We'll have the medics do a comparative analysis of their blood samples with Jaeger's and a control group of your choice for the midichlorian count.”

Erwin nodded. He would log the orders immediately, and then head to bed. “Yes, sir.”

“You're dismissed, Commander. Keep up the good work and keep me updated.”

Erwin stood and quietly saluted before exiting the room as silently as he had entered. Hopefully Thrawn would get back to sleep while he went to go carry out his orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you guys know that I sell jewelry? Did you know that I lose my job on Thursday until August 31 and I'm the only source of income in my household? Did you know you can help me by checking out my jewelry and then showing it to your friends and family, or by asking me for commissions? Check out [my store](http://eclipsicaljewelry.storenvy.com) and/or [my jewelry blog](http://eclipsicaljewelryanddesign.tumblr.com), and then stay awesome, 'cause you totally are.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time he woke up again it was to the smell of food nearby. Pellaeon's stomach rumbled and he opened his eyes; however, there was no food in the room, and Thrawn was still asleep. His eyes moved to the chronometer on the wall as he mulled over whether to wake his slumbering commander or not. Thrawn was likely due in meetings with the Rebels in another hour and a half, but he was so sorely tempted to let the man sleep a little longer. Seeing the man with his guard down was a slightly jarring change, and a rare opportunity for Pellaeon to observe without being observed in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut someone in half lengthwise. AoT fans are already crying because they already know who it is. I didn't go into depth with the description, but it is mentioned. Some poor fucker wakes up next to the body. AoT fans can probably guess who that is too. I'm not sorry. At least I didn't go out of my way to make you fall in love with him this time, right?

Pellaeon had been surprised to be woken up for his medications they couldn’t inject into his IV and a quick check of his vitals and pupils to find Grand Admiral Thrawn asleep in the exact same position he'd been in when Pellaeon had fallen asleep. The medic who woke him noticed his gaze and gave him a small smile. “We figured it's the first time he's really slept in a while so we're not going to wake him until an hour or two before his shift,” she'd murmured. Pellaeon was fine with that. Whatever ensured their leader got a decent few hours of rest. 

When she'd left he'd fallen asleep again easily to the sound of Thrawn's quiet breathing and the beeping of the equipment that reminded him that he was alive and safe. 

The second time he woke up again it was to the smell of food nearby. Pellaeon's stomach rumbled and he opened his eyes; however, there was no food in the room, and Thrawn was still asleep. His eyes moved to the chronometer on the wall as he mulled over whether to wake his slumbering commander or not. Thrawn was likely due in meetings with the Rebels in another hour and a half, but he was so sorely tempted to let the man sleep a little longer. Seeing the man with his guard down was a slightly jarring change, and a rare opportunity for Pellaeon to observe him without being observed in return or trying to see through the mask of command. 

His hair was still utterly perfect, as was his uniform, but Thrawn was slouched down in his chair the way Pellaeon had used to sit when he was a young teenager and his mother wasn't around to scold him for not practicing good posture. Sleeping took ages off Thrawn's face in the dim lighting, and he looked quite a bit younger, even though Pellaeon had his suspicions that Thrawn was a few years older than him. There was no stress on the man’s face now, all wrinkles eased with the peace brought by deep slumber, and no sign of the horror that had been the last few weeks of their lives lingered. Gone was the aura of command, as though it was something that Thrawn had to put on every morning with his uniform.

If he didn't wake Thrawn now, there was no way the man would be ready in time for his meetings. He’d just opened his mouth to try to rouse him when the decision was taken away from him by the arrival of Captain Harbid, who came with a mug of black coffee. It was more exotic than stimcafe, and the beans it came from only grew on certain regions of certain planets, but it was adequate enough for helping one to wake up. It smelled amazing, but there was no way the medics would allow him to even look too closely at the stuff. They made eye contact, and Harbid set the coffee down far away from Pellaeon's reach.

“You haven't woken him yet?” the older man asked quietly.

“I just woke up myself,” Pellaeon said, and covered a yawn with his hand. “I figured if he was needed someone would come and get him, and here you are.”

Harbid shook his head slowly in disapproval, and put his hand on Thrawn's shoulder. “Admiral, it's time to wake up,” he said a little louder. 

The death glare the elderly man received when Thrawn opened his eyes didn't even faze Harbid. Pellaeon was impressed. If he'd been on the receiving end of that glare, he most likely would have taken several large steps back. “I've brought you coffee. Drink it, and go wake up properly. You've got an hour until the pre-meeting briefing.” He withdrew his hand, gave Thrawn a stern look that reminded Pellaeon quite a bit of his own grandfather. Perhaps that was how the elderly man remained unfazed: too many years of experience in dealing with his own large family.

Thrawn grouchily waved him off, and Harbid, seemingly satisfied that the grand admiral was going to do as he was told, passed him the mug and left them alone after wishing Pellaeon a good morning. Still looking tired (but definitely better rested), Thrawn sat in complete silence as he nursed the coffee. It seemed that Grand Admiral Thrawn, Supreme Commander of the Galactic Empire, was not a morning person at all. Able by now to more easily distinguish Thrawn’s facial microexpressions, Pellaeon knew he was glowering, possibly over being woken up from what he suspected was the first decent sleep the man had gotten in several nights. Partially to save himself from getting in trouble for being amused, and partially due to his exhaustion, Pellaeon dozed a little, relaxed by the quiet company. When Thrawn finally did get up to leave, he brushed a hand over the new admiral's shoulder, and said he'd be by later – possibly with the Skywalker twins, as this would be their last chance to try to pry stories out of him.

The exit of his quiet companion woke him fully, and Pellaeon studied Thrawn even as he acknowledged what the man said. Between the moment he’d stood up and the moment he’d brushed a hand over Pellaeon’s shoulder to wake up, Thrawn had someone managed to pull that air of authority on despite appearing as though he needed another two or three cups of coffee and a few more hours of sleep. He nodded his thanks at Thrawn and bid him a good day, hiding his amusement carefully when he noticed the back of Thrawn’s hair sticking up slightly from his chosen sleeping position.

The medics fed him, and when they'd left, Pellaeon dug around under his pillow for the data pad and data cards Captain Harbid had brought him.

They were gone. 

He sighed and shook his head, wondering how the Grand Admiral had even known they were there, and when he'd managed to remove them from the room.

– – –

Midday meal came after a three hour nap, and Pellaeon was pleased to find when he woke up that he was retaining a bit more energy after these bouts of undeniable exhaustion. He'd eaten alone today, which was unusual, but it was nice to focus on the food without a friend or subordinate sitting next to him looking like they were about to offer to feed it to him. It was blood loss, not the amputation of both of his arms. They were all going to be utterly unbearable when he was released back to duty, and he knew it.

Shortly after midday meal a medical orderly came bearing a message from Grand Admiral Thrawn that turned out to be a warning that he was bringing up Organa Solo and Skywalker, and instructions that they needed to use this time to make the Jedi see them as a more Human, less faceless enemy. With them came the small infants he had sheltered from the partial collapse of the ceiling. Thrawn had Jaina in his arms again, Jacen was in Skywalker's, and Pellaeon got the impression their mother was enjoying having her arms free. In a household with twins it probably wasn’t often Organa Solo got the chance to move her arms as she chose.

If seeing Thrawn holding a baby on a security holo was entertaining, seeing it in person was ten times better, even if it was ten times more weirdly attractive. At least he wasn’t alone in that thought; Pellaeon heard the nurses outside his room murmuring the same sort of thoughts as his visitors entered. “Good afternoon,” he greeted as the group entered. Thrawn let the Rebels take the chairs, and he sat on the edge of Pellaeon's bed, who scooted his legs over to make room. 

“I thought you might appreciate some company that isn't going to pester you repeatedly about your health,” Thrawn said. He'd definitely been correct, but this wasn't what he'd had in mind, exactly, and had hoped Thrawn would forget about this, even after sending up instructions. Apparently convincing the Jedi of whatever Thrawn had in mind was more important than his own mental comfort right now, and Pellaeon was just going to have to play along.

“I would, indeed,” he replied diplomatically, and looked at their enemies turned guests. “How is your stay on the _Chimaera_ so far? I hope my crew are treating you well.”

“It's a little surreal,” Organa Solo answered, “to be in Imperial custody and not in a detention block, but your crew has been incredibly polite and accommodating.” 

“They're good kids,” he said, “and I imagine everyone is thrilled at getting to see babies on our ship. We don't get to go home to family often.”

“One of the downsides of war,” Skywalker said as he made a sympathetic face. “How are you feeling?”

Aside from rather strange at seeing Thrawn pretending to ignore their conversation to talk to a baby? “Tired,” Pellaeon answered. “One of the downsides to severe blood loss. Were the children all right?”

Organa Solo smiled at him. “Yes. That's the main reason I asked to see you. Thank you so much for keeping them safe.”

He returned the smile. “You're welcome, Councilor.” There was silence more a moment, except for Jaina, cooing at Thrawn excitedly, and Pellaeon spoke again. “You said 'the main reason'. I take it you had another reason for coming down here?” He had a feeling he knew what was coming, and couldn’t possibly see how it pertained to his duties to the Empire. 

“I may have confirmed that you knew their father when he was young,” Thrawn supplied.

 _Traitor,_ Pellaeon thought, and made sure the glance he threw Thrawn’s way said as much. His efforts got him a soft huff of air in response. “I did yes, back when he was young and restless and crashed a ship on average of once a month, whether through his own fault or because a Separatist droid got in a lucky shot.” Pellaeon shook his head. “For a man who's been frequently lauded as one of the best pilots in the galaxy, he was shot down an awful lot. I suppose that if he hadn't been so good, he'd have died in a crash ages before the war ended.”

That had their attention. Thrawn simply looked rather amused at their reactions. Pellaeon told them a few stories, answered their questions, and held Jacen Solo for a short while before he started to feel tired again. Thrawn passed the babies back to their family and summoned a pair of stormtroopers to escort them back to their group as he stayed behind for a bit. 

“Thank you,” he said, leaning forward enough to rest a hand on Pellaeon’s shoulder. “I know you're tired, but the more we can convince them we're people too, the easier they'll be to manipulate.”

“Is that why you've been spending so much time holding her babies?" Pellaeon asked after a yawn. "All I hear from anyone that comes in here is talk about you playing with the twins. It’s impossible to get any actual updates." Tired again, the newly minted admiral shifted a little in the bed.

Thrawn leaned forward enough to help him shift into a more comfortable position for sleeping. He shook his head. “No. I simply haven't had the pleasure of holding a baby for some time.” Pellaeon raised his eyebrows a little in surprise. His commander had held babies before? That was interesting, but something about Thrawn’s face stopped him from asking. There was a pause, and Thrawn tilted his head a little, as though considering whether or not to say something before he decided to continue. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I am also enjoying the reactions of the crew and the Rebels to the sight of me talking to four-month-olds. I'm sure you appreciated the security holos Captain Harbid smuggled in to you yesterday to that effect.”

“I knew it was you that took them out of here,” Pellaeon grumbled. “Can't let a man marvel over the sight of something like that in peace, can you?”

Thrawn gave him an amused look. “My issue was with the other data cards he brought you, and I wasn’t sure which was which and didn’t want to wake you by checking them one at a time, so I confiscated them all. Tomorrow, perhaps, you can have them back, but I believe your orders were to rest for another day or two, were they not?” He quirked an eyebrow politely, but Pellaeon knew there was a threat underneath the friendly charm in Thrawn’s tone. If he didn't obey, he wouldn't be working again for a much longer period of time.

“Yes, sir,” he muttered.

Satisfied, Thrawn stood, his fingertips dragging absently over Pellaeon's thigh as he stood from the bed again. Inappropriate though it was for him to do so Pellaeon found the touch both comforting and… something else his worn-out mind couldn’t quite wrap around. “Rest, Admiral. I'll check on you again after I see our guests off the ship.”

Pellaeon made a face, but sighed in defeat. “Yes, sir. I'll try.”

“I'm sure you'll succeed,” Thrawn commented dryly, and left him to his rest.

– – –

In the end it was decided that Skywalker, three of the X-wing pilots, and two members of Major Zakarius's Intelligence Surveillance squad would go chase down the leads in Coruscant's large underground. Organa Solo would pursue the political leak with Calrissian’s and Solo's assistance, and Antilles and the rest of Rogue Squadron would keep an eye out for any of the spies in the military. The _Chimaera_ would pursue all leads in Imperial-held space and coordinate the information coming from both sides. When pressed on why Thrawn wasn't taking a more active role in the search, Mike hadn't been surprised to hear Thrawn remind them that this was a warship, he had an Empire to lead and protect, and that they did have a schedule to get back to in order to best protect the citizens under their care. If they still had the Bilbringi shipyards he may have been able to offer more in the way of help, but alas, that was not the case. The comment caused a few of the Rebels to tense enough that Mike had half-expected a brawl to follow, but civility reigned and their enemies-turned-guests left the ship without responding to the grand admiral’s bait, though the Rebels wouldn’t be leaving orbit until the _Chimaera’s_ task force left the system.

Mike found it much easier to breathe when they were in hyperspace moving away from Honoghr, and it was only their three suspects that really needed babysitting. Jaeger was safely tucked away under Levi's watchful eye, surrounded by Ensigns Ackerman, Arlert, Bodt, and Kirstein. The Fleet had been dispersed, every ship back into its own task force and off on assigned patrols. All the Chimaera's Intel section was waiting for were the results from the blood tests of the newer officers; from there, Erwin had assured them, Thrawn would know what to do to eliminate the threat.

As far as wait times went, it was fast, but even two days seemed like two days too long right now. The senior officers who knew what was going on were all impatient and on edge. Security had been doubled, and even the least observant members of the crew seemed to catch on that something bad was happening or about to happen. Even the Grand Admiral, usually flawlessly composed, seemed a bit tense. Some small changes in command here and there weren't helping at all, as those who had been promoted following Admiral Pellaeon's promotion learned their new duties. 

Nearly all the senior bridge and Intelligence officers had been putting in twelve to sixteen hour days – including Grand Admiral Thrawn. The only people on the ship who weren't overworked were in sick bay recovering from injuries.

That's where Mike was at the moment. Though officially there to get the results and take them personally to Grand Admiral Thrawn and Commander Smith, he also wanted to stop in and check on their new admiral. The old man was asleep, which was to be expected after the blood loss, but his stormtrooper guards were suspiciously nowhere to be seen, and neither were most of the sickbay staff. Stormtroopers didn't shirk their duties, especially not a group of four of their most elite clone troopers. After tucking the data card with the medics' report into his pants pocket and determining that they had no idea where the stormtroopers went, and that they were unreachable via comlink, Mike drew his blaster and cautiously edged into the room. 

He carefully turned the lights up just enough to see by as the door slid shut behind him. When a quick examination of the room revealed just him and Admiral Pellaeon, Mike pulled out his comlink and holstered the blaster. “Major Zakarius for Grand Admiral Thrawn,” he murmured to the bridge communications crew member that answered.

There was a moment of silence while he waited for Thrawn to pick up, but Mike finally got an answer. “You have news for me, Major?” came the smooth voice.

“Sir, I reported to sick bay to retrieve the medics' report, and discovered the captain is unguarded. I can't find the stormtroopers rostered for this shift, nor can I reach them via comlink, and the single medic on duty in this section of sick bay just realized that he hasn't seen or heard anything from them since shift change. I don't smell anything off, but something definitely feels wrong.”

There was a soft noise from Thrawn's end that Mike ignored. When Thrawn spoke again, he still sounded cool and collected. “Is Ca- Is _Admiral_ Pellaeon all right?”

“I'm fairly certain, yes, sir. He's not waking up, but I'm looking him over to make certain. None of the equipment monitoring his condition has been set off and his vitals appear to be normal,” Mike assured him.

Deciding that he might as well make himself useful, Mike obeyed the order to keep searching. The room itself was definitely clear of unauthorized surveillance equipment, but Pellaeon...

Wait. What the hell was that on his calf?

Mike leaned over and pressed the call button by the bed to summon the medic, not wanting to touch whatever it was himself yet. “Admiral,” he murmured into the comlink, “you might want to call Major Zoe down here. There's some kind of device on Admiral Pellaeon's calf that I've never seen before.”

There was the sound of Thrawn slowly exhaling – was that relief or an attempt to stay calm? – followed by a short bout of silence. “Stay with him, Major. I'm sending two squads of stormtroopers to assist you and search for the four missing troopers. You will continue your search of the Admiral and the room, and maintain an open comm until I arrive.”

He was coming himself? Despite the danger? Man, Thrawn really wasn't anything like most of the other officers. Few could match his willingness to endanger himself in leading by example. Mike opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut. He remembered Tattooine. Thrawn could handle himself just fine. “Yes, sir,” he replied.

“Don't touch it. I'll be there in three minutes.”

– – –

The first thing Armin noticed when he woke up was that the body he'd been curled up against for warmth on the floor of his and Eren's quarters was gone. Feeling unusually bleary-eyed and exhausted, Armin dragged his head upright, forced himself to sit straight up, and looked around. This small room was shared between himself and Eren, but Marco and Jean had been staying over to help protect Eren from any potential traitors. Jean had been on watch at his side while Marco took up Armin's bed to sleep.

Now it was presumably just Armin and Eren in the room.

A quick glance over his shoulder as he got to his feet revealed that Eren was still asleep. Careful not to wake him, the blonde tiptoed to the door. Hearing anything through the thick steel of the bulkhead was impossible, so Armin keyed for the door release. Nothing happened. Frowning, he hit it again. The door remained unresponsive.

 _Shit_.

Wary of the possibility of being electrocuted, he pulled the panel that housed the release for the door from the bulkhead wall. He needn’t have worried: there was no power running to the panel at all, and he couldn't see where it might have been disconnected. That meant there was a problem somewhere else in the system. Swearing softly, Armin fumbled at his belt for a comlink that wasn't where it should have been. He spun in place, quickly checking the bare floor, but the comlink wasn't on the floor either. There was no way it had rolled under either bunk, as they connected solidly to the ground. Also missing from the room was the single ysalamir they had been using to keep Eren's power hidden and undetectable to Master Skywalker. The intercom in the room had been completely torn from the wall, the computer terminals were smashed, and there was no way to open up the plate to the door controls.

They were clearly in danger.

Armin bent to shake Eren awake so they could come up with a defensive strategy, but the brunet wouldn't budge. “Wake up,” he hissed as he checked Eren's pulse. It was there, but slow and faint, as though he'd been drugged or injured.

That was definitely suspicious. Arming cast his eyes around the room again for either of their blasters, and even checked under all the pillows. There was no sign of them. They were trapped in their bunk with no decent place to hide, no way to communicate, no way to escape, and with nothing to use in self-defense except Armin's own hand-to-hand combat skills.

The blood test results ordered by the Grand Admiral were due back today. Did that have something to do with this? If the tests had been ordered to try to reveal the traitors – as Armin suspected – were their traitors choosing to act now before they could be arrested, tried, and executed for their costly treason? Did that mean the attack from the Force-sensitive people on those ships and the kidnapping of Admiral Pellaeon by the Noghri were related? If the traitors were Force-sensitive, did that mean they were about to try grabbing Eren and running?

It seemed Armin was going to find out. There was the faint sound of blaster fire outside now, so Armin lifted Eren by his armpits and dragged him to the small closet they shared. He tucked Eren into the back, the moved to pry the grate off the air vent on the other side of the room. It was a long shot, but he had to do his best to carry out his duties. If they went to examine the vent, there was a chance he and Eren could make a break for it if Eren woke up.

As the noise beyond the door went silent, Armin slipped back into the closet and held his breath. Not even thirty seconds later, their door blew inward with a force that would have caused a less-disciplined man to scream. Moving to place himself between the intruder and Eren, Armin tensed and prepared to spring. Three dark, hooded figures burst into the room, fanning out with blasters pointed to cover every angle. Armin's blue eyes narrowed as the shortest figure studied the vent grating in silence before a moment before that familiar silhouette turned and looked right at the closet. “They're in there,” a female voice said.

No. It couldn't be.

It was. Annie's hood fell back as she turned to face the closet more fully. Their eyes locked, and they stared in silence for a moment before he realized who the other two must be. His eyes widened as Reiner and Bertholdt looked at him. Reiner lowered his blaster, looking rather conflicted, and gestured to the side, palm out, to order them to lower their weapons. As he did so, his clothing parted, revealing what looked like a lightsaber at his belt. Oh no. “Move aside, Armin,” he said, “and we won't hurt you.”

“You know I can't,” he replied coldly. “Eren is my best friend. I can’t just let you take him to do who knows what with him! I can’t believe all of this pain and death... it was you three. You broke your oaths to give your hearts to the Empire and brought suffering to your friends.”

Bertholdt looked down at the floor, Annie back toward the hallway, but Reiner kept his eyes on Armin’s. For a moment, Armin wondered if he’d gotten through to the other man. When he spoke, those hopes were dashed. Reiner didn't respond to his question; instead, he lifted his hand, closed his eyes, and waved it. “You want to move aside, Armin.”

There was some kind of pressure on his mind, something that lowered his resistance to the suggestion. Armin had already taken two small steps to the side before he caught himself. It was a struggle, but he manage to overcome it and put himself squarely back in front of Eren. “No,” he growled, hands fisted at his side. “All my life he's protected me and stood up for me! You can't expect me to just move aside and let you take him for whatever weird reason you want!”

“You don't know what you're messing with!” Reiner argued back. “It's important that we bring him back where he'll be safe!”

“He's safe enough here!”

Apparently having had enough of this, Annie stepped forward, hand raised in a loose first. “Enough! We're on a time-table, Reiner.” It felt like there was a pressure on his windpipe, and when she squeezed her fist that same pressure bore down on him. Talking back wasn't an option, and before he knew it, he was unconscious.

– – –

When he regained consciousness in his own bunk, Armin was more than a little confused. He bolted upright, looking around, trying to remember how he’d gotten there. The small room was full of people looking at him expectantly, and two medics were hovering over him, checking his vitals and asking questions about how he felt. Hesitantly, Armin answered them, and looked around at the small gathering of people. None of his friends were in the room, but there was a pair of stormtrooper guards, Commander Smith, Lieutenant Ackerman, Major Nanaba, and Captain Quentin, along with a few other high-ranking officers he didn’t immediately recognize. Some of them had on ISB uniforms, which meant there had been a breach in ship’s security. There was no other reason he could think of for them to be down in his small bunk.

But what kind of breach would involve-

Oh.

His blue eyes widened and he set them on Commander Smith. Armin suspected the man had a soft spot for him, and more than once had taken Armin under his wing to work on the strategy for a mission just to teach him something new. He’d probably be the most sympathetic person in the room to Armin right now, if he was in trouble. There was no other reason he could think of as to why there were stormtroopers in his bunk.

“They took Eren!” he blurted, ignoring the rules of military etiquette. What did the rules matter if Eren was missing or dead? Quenton looked like he was about to rebuke Armin for it, so he pressed on, determined to not be interrupted and interrogated. “Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt! They locked us in here and then burst in and took Eren. I couldn’t get him to wake up and then she did something with her hand and I think I passed out-”

Levi shooed the medics out of the room, and sat down on the bunk next to him. The lieutenant put a hand on Armin’s shoulder, cutting off his panicked tirade with a look. “We know.”

“Did someone stop them? Where are Jean and Marco? Where’s Mikasa?”

“Calm down, Ensign,” Quenton ordered, then turned his attention to Commander Smith. “This isn’t the safest place on the ship to have this discussion. We should move him elsewhere so your own investigation units and those from Security can continue their examination of Arlert’s quarters without us trampling all over it.”

For a moment Armin thought that Commander Smith was going to argue, but he seemed to think better of it and nodded. “Very well. Would you consider my office sufficiently secure, Captain?”

Quenton gave his assent, and Levi offered a hand up. “Can you walk?” the lieutenant asked.

There was nothing wrong with his legs that Armin could tell. He nodded, and accepted the offered hand that pulled him to his feet. Captain Quentin led the way to Smith’s office, though they had to wait for the commander to put in the security code. Apparently his office was one of the few places on the ship to which the captain did not have open access. Interesting. The commander took his seat behind the desk, the captain sat on the front edge of it, and the lieutenant steered Armin into a chair in front of the big desk and then stood behind him. No one said anything for a few long moments, and Armin was hyper-aware of the eyes on him as the three older men seemed to study him for any weaknesses or signs that he might have been involved in the betrayal. The Ensign reminded himself that questioning was normal operating procedure after something like this, and took a deep breath to steady himself.

Predictably, it was the captain that spoke first, as was his right. He turned to the commander and nodded. “Record,” he ordered, and the commander reached over and hit a button. Great. An audio record meant that he’d likely be made to repeat the story more than once, and the recordings would be played to check for inconsistencies. This was a questioning technique he knew a lot about, having used it several times previously, most recently in the hunt for Talon Karrde. “Ensign Armin Arlert, as required by standard operating protocol regarding the kidnapping of an officer, I am required to question all witnesses and make an investigation into the incident. As you are the only conscious witness, I must start with you. Tell us what happened tonight, from the time you ate evening meal until you woke up to the medics poking and prodding you.”

“Yes, sir,” Armin agreed, and took a deep breath to steady himself and to try to calm his shaking hands. “Ensigns Jaeger, Kirstein, Bodt, and I ate evening meal in the mess hall closest to our bunks. Nothing unusual happened. When we finished we returned straight away to the bunk I share with Ensign Jaeger, as per standing orders from Commander Smith. Ensign Kirstein and I decided to take the first watch, so Ensigns Jaeger and Bodt took the bunks to sleep.” Armin looked down at his hands. If only he hadn’t fallen asleep. 

Lieutenant Ackerman seemed to think he needed some prodding along, and maybe he did. “What happened next, Ensign?” he asked. 

Trying his best not to fidget and hoping he wouldn’t be subjected to disciplinary measures for admitting his mistake, Armin forced himself to continue on. “I remember feeling very tired all of a sudden, and when I came to Jea- I mean, Ensign Kirstein and Ensign Bodt were gone, all our communications were cut off, and we were locked into the bunk. Our comlinks had been taken, our weapons were all missing, the intercom had been ripped out of the wall, and our computer terminals smashed.”

Commander Smith and Lieutenant Ackerman shared a look, and then Commander Smith and Captain Quenton exchanged one as well. “How did you sleep through that?” Quenton asked after a moment. His tone seemed accusatory, as though he thought Armin was lying. 

“I don’t know,” he bit out with a glare. The commander gave him a warning look, and he hastily tacked a ‘sir’ onto the end. “I came to, everything was a wreck, and Ensign Jaeger couldn’t be woken. He’s been a light sleeper since we were kids, but he didn’t even wake up when I dragged him into the wardrobe to attempt to hide. Normally it would have been him waking me up.”

“Is it possible someone could have drugged your food?” the captain asked.

Of course it was. Armin was starting to think that must have been what happened, and was certain he’d be marched down to sick bay shortly to have the contents of his stomach tested. “It’s a possibility, yes. I am willing to submit to a medical examination to determine if that was the cause.”

Lieutenant Ackerman shifted behind him as though he was going to say something, but a look from the captain stopped him from adding on whatever thought it was he’d had to the conversation. “In due time, Ensign,” Quenton said. “What happened after you discovered you were locked in and unable to communicate? You said you hid in the wardrobe.”

Armin nodded. “Yes, sir. It was the only place in the room out of immediate sight besides the air vent, and I was unable to lift Ensign Jaeger into that. I had hoped I might be able to ambush an attacker if they couldn’t see me.”

“It didn’t work.”

A soft sigh escaped his lips. “No, sir. Annie Leonhart seemed to be able to sense where I was. She, Reiner Braun, and Bertholdt Hoover had what I can only surmise were lightsabers, and when I tried to defend Eren, Leonhart gestured with her hand as Lord Vader used to, and then I was waking up in my bunk with all of you there.”

“And that’s everything you remember, with no lies or half-truths?”

“Yes, Captain.”

Captain Quenton seemed satisfied and nodded. “Very well. Let the record show that Ensign Arlert is ordered to report to sick bay for a full toxin screening to ascertain whether or not he was drugged. Ensign, you’re dismissed. Lieutenant Ackerman will escort you to sick bay, and I’ll meet you there shortly.”

When the door slid shut behind them, Armin let out a small sigh of relief. He was still shaken, and still terrified for Eren, but at least he wasn’t being marched straight down to detention. His commanding officer gave him a brief moment to collect himself before he was nudging Armin along with a gentle hand at his elbow. The shock of the attack had thankfully left his mind feeling a little numb, and Armin hoped that he wasn’t going to snap out of it before he was alone in his quarters. No one had told him what had happened to anybody else. He tried to question the lieutenant, but no answers about who was still alive were forthcoming from the man. It frustrated him. All Armin wanted to know was whether or not the rest of his friends had lived and no one would tell him. A simple list of who they knew were okay would have put his mind greatly at ease.

It wasn’t until after the testing in sick bay that had resulted in his stomach being pumped and an anti-toxin shot being given to him that Armin got any further information out of anybody. They’d found Jean by then, and Armin had watched as he came in crying, had sat with him as he sobbed hysterically and told the story of how he’d woken up in a utility closet down the hall to find Marco cut clean in half lengthwise with the marks perfectly cauterized to stop any blood from flowing or organs falling out. Armin sat with him as he gave his report, and tried not to let it hit him. It wasn’t until they let Mikasa in that he dared to cry, and the medics and their commanding officers left them alone for a while to mourn together while they waited to make sure Armin and Jean’s anti-toxin medicine was working.

There was some kind of racket going on further in to sick bay, but no one would tell them what it was. They waited for a few hours before someone came to check on them and dismiss them with orders that tomorrow they would appear before the Grand Admiral for another debriefing. With nowhere else to go and Armin and Jean’s rooms still closed for the scanning crew, they followed Mikasa back to her bunk and were content to fall asleep on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said [in this tumblr post](http://thebestblogeverofalltime.tumblr.com/post/117158855332/i-want-to-maybe-write-or-read-a-fic-where-the) sometimes I like to write Thrawn as being a morning person, and sometimes I think it's hilarious that the Supreme Commander of the Galactic Empire wakes up with bed head, morning breath, and the urge to just snuggle his pillows and is secretly grouchy until he's had at least 2 cups of coffee.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though it was dark when he woke, the smell of the air was so comfortingly familiar. It smelled colder than it felt under the several blankets on top of him. Clearly it was the time of year where autumn was in full swing, the air crisp with the smell of the dying leaves that likely littered the ground. Eren often dreamed of being back on Maria whenever he was on duty aboard the _Chimaera_ , but the smells were never as vivid as they were now. There was an arm draped over his waist, warm and heavy and comforting. It felt familiar, almost like Reiner’s arm, but Eren hadn’t shared a bunk with him since their days at the Imperial Academy on Rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for "innocent" touching. Ah. Old men touching each other innocently.
> 
> Edit 05/24/2015: I slipped a joke in here about Thrawn's eyes.

Pellaeon awoke to a plethora of people making what would have been a ridiculous amount of noise even for a hangar bay, and he doubted that was where he was since the air didn’t smell like skid gases and dirty mechanics. He grumbled his displeasure at the racket – or tried to. When had a sarlaac pit taken up residence in his throat? Saying the sensation of such a dry mouth was unpleasant was like saying Tatooine was merely “very warm” or space was “really big”. Pellaeon tried to pry open his eyes to see if anybody was around for him to convince to get him some water, but it felt like he had a Death Star weighing down each of his eyelids.

Some kind soul had clearly figured out what it was he wanted despite his inability to specify – whoever had the melodious and smooth voice with the cold and threatening undertone – and sat down on the edge of whatever he was laying on. Pellaeon thought that it might be a bed by the way the surface of it dipped with the added weight. Someone lifted his head, elevating it gently, and he couldn’t tell if it was the same person giving him water or two separate people. The person on the edge of the bed shifted slightly, and something soft that radiated heat pressed into his side. Hard plastic pressed to his lips. 

“Drink, Admiral,” said the warm voice. The underlying threat in the tone vanished when he was addressed; instead, the tone was soothing, maybe even a little bit fond. It induced a desire in him to obey, to please, and so he obediently parted his lips. Dimly, he thought it wasn’t the first time this voice had been modulated to manipulate him or someone else, but who it could be or why eluded him. Cool, refreshing water filled his mouth, wetting the dry areas and flooding out that damn sarlacc in his throat. He tried to open his mouth to take more and made what little noise he could to complain when he was denied.

“No, Admiral. Sip slowly.” The cup pulled away from his lips and Pellaeon made a second noise of protest, not quite able to process what was being said. He was still thirsty but he couldn't lift his arms to take control and grasp the cup.

Did he even have arms? It occurred to him that not knowing that should be making him panic, but he couldn’t hold on to the emotion at all. It slipped away from him like a bar of soap squeezed too tightly, and all that was left was the lingering thought. The cup returned a moment later and Pellaeon sipped at the water again as he contemplated the question. What were arms anyway? Who had decided to call them that? Had someone decided it, or had Humans just known from their beginnings tens or hundreds of thousands of years ago that they were simply called arms? The only things he felt he could be certain of were that he was thirsty, his body felt heavy, and his eyes refused to open. 

Even his ears seemed to be indecisive of whether or not they should be cooperating with him. If he put all his energy into focusing, he could tell there were more words being said. “-Analyzed the compound, sir, and we're not-”

Bits of conversation filtered through the haze of his mind.

“If he pulls through the night, yes, Grand Admiral Thrawn, but that's a big _if_ right now. The chemical-”

There was arguing. It was quieter now, but the man holding the cup seemed to be part of it. “Can he pull through?”

There was a pause, he thought. The voices sounded so familiar but they just weren't clicking in his head with names or faces despite the feeling that he’d known at least one of those voices for a very long time and the other for long enough to have it memorized. “He might, yes, but that depends on how efficiently his body processes out the toxins. There's nothing more we can do for Admiral Pellaeon besides keep him comfortable. I'm sorry, sir, but he may not even survive the night. If he can manage it – and again, sir, I really cannot stress that _if_ enough – he'll likely live, but it's all up to him now.”

Had something happened to him and his guards? He'd had guards, hadn't he? There had been two young men in the room, waving blasters and– 

–The person the amazing voice – it was so soothing, so rich and wonderful – pulled the cup away and shouted for a medic as something began beeping. Those men had threatened to kill him. He'd seen or heard something he shouldn't have, and they were going to erase all the evidence. Then a woman had stepped in, said there was no need for violence that would bring the entirety of ship’s security down on them when something quiet and subtle would do the job just as well, and stabbed something painful into his calf.

Just like something painful was stabbing into his upper arm right now. Pellaeon cried out, tried to fight back, but someone that smelled so nice, so familiar, so safe, was holding him down, talking soothingly to him to get him to calm down. He wanted to tell him why, but whatever had been stabbed into him was making him tired again. Someone said something about “A sedative only, sir,” and that was the last thing he heard before he fell back asleep.

– – –

The next time Pellaeon woke he was calmer, less confused, and far too comfortable to even consider opening his eyes. Had sick bay beds always felt this heavenly? The blankets that had been laid over him and tucked around his sides and legs felt like the fancy self-heating ones that fed off a person's body heat to keep them comfortable. Impressive, how safe one warm blanket could make a man feel. No one seemed to be in the room with him from what he could hear, so there seemed to be no cause for alarm. That was fine, then. He was safe now. Relaxed, he fell back asleep.

– – –

The third time his consciousness had come slinking back to him like a cheating spouse begging for one more chance, Pellaeon felt well enough and rested enough to try to open his eyes. His lids felt like they were being dragged back down even as he forced them open. Aside from the slight glow and beep of the monitoring equipment attached to him, the sick bay room was dark and silent. It was relaxing enough to just lie there and feel safe that it took Pellaeon a moment to realize he was not alone.

A quiet breath caught his attention – and it hadn't come from him. Warily, afraid he would see the threatening intruders he'd dreamed about before, Pellaeon glanced down to where something warm and hard was pressed against the outside of his thigh.

Thrawn.

The light was very dim, but there was no mistaking the white of that uniform. At some point, Thrawn had sat down in the chair next to his bed and fallen asleep with his head resting on top of his folded arms on the mattress of the sick bay bed. The top of his head was pressed against Pellaeon's thigh, and his face was turned so that it was facing Pellaeon. Asleep, with his guard completely down, Thrawn looked younger despite some of the worry and strain showing through. There was no carefully composed mask there now, just a peculiar sort of honesty he was unfamiliar seeing from the grand admiral showing through in his sleep. The sight of his superior officer sleeping was endearing, but definitely odd. Finding him asleep at his bedside like this was doubly peculiar. Had something actually happened? Was that not a dream? Wasn’t he just recovering from blood loss? Thrawn had returned to the bridge before retiring for the night when Pellaeon had started falling asleep last night, or so he had thought.

Realizing that he was very thirsty and not wanting to wake the grand admiral, Pellaeon cast his eyes around for water. There was nothing within easy reach, so he settled more comfortably against his pillows with a soft sigh. The movement was enough to startle Thrawn awake; he didn't sit up fully, but his head jerked upright and his red eyes darted first to the monitors, then to Pellaeon's face with an intensity that made him think of a blaster bolt. If the lighting in the room had been any dimmer, Thrawn's eyes [would have been painfully bright in the darkness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwSKkKrUzUk) instead of casting a comforting glow like a child's nightlight. Their eyes locked, and Pellaeon suppressed a small, amused smile that felt like it was being brought on by some sort of drug. As entertaining and fascinating as it was to see his normally perfectly composed superior officer looking utterly disheveled and bleary-eyed, he doubted Thrawn would appreciate neither the sentiment, nor Pellaeon's mentally comparison of his eyes to a nightlight.

For some reason, Thrawn seemed surprised to see him awake. His left hand fumbled for the button that would call the medics as he stared in shock at Pellaeon. The medics responded quickly, two of them and a nurse entering the room and shooing Thrawn out so they could poke and prod at his immediate subordinate in peace. Question after question came from them, and between sips of water and the odd poke of a needle, Pellaeon got the whole story out of them and a warning that he might feel rather loopy and carefree for a while from the sedatives they’d had to use on him. A female stormtrooper had knocked out all of the medical staff near to his room, taken out the stormtroopers on guard, hidden their bodies, stabbed him with some device, and fled. They didn't really know any other details, beyond telling him that the chemicals the female had put into him had nearly killed him. When the chief medic had managed to sort out the composition of the chemicals, he'd expected Pellaeon wouldn't last the night.

The grand admiral had been informed of it right before the junior officer had come to and had a panic attack, or something similar, and Thrawn had informed his closest friends of the situation. Only those aboard the _Chimaera_ had been able to come and sit with him, and they had taken it in turns to be sure he was never alone. Thrawn had been in and out as duty called, but had been with the admiral since his usual shift had ended.

After determining that he was strong enough now to hold a cup, they gave him more water and stepped out to let the grand admiral in. Pellaeon watched as they stopped him in the doorway to report on his condition, and then moved out of the room. The door slid shut behind them, and it was just the two of them. Thrawn moved toward the bed but did not resume his usual spot; instead, he sat facing Pellaeon on the edge of the bed, his hip warm against Pellaeon's knee, as it had been when he’d been forced to entertain the Skywalker twins with stories of their father. They spent a moment in silence, each carefully assessing the other to determine their mental state and what they were thinking. Pellaeon finished his water as his eyes searched Thrawn's face, and the taller male took the cup from his hands and set it aside.

As usual, it was Thrawn who spoke first. “I'm relieved to see you've pulled through,” he quietly admitted. “Chief Medic McKirk was certain you only had hours left to live, if that.”

The thought of it looked as though it was painful to Thrawn. Still under the influence of heavy sedatives and so more curious as to how the grand admiral would react than he was concerned with the consequences, Pellaeon lifted his right hand enough to rest it on Thrawn's wrist. The grand admiral had been looking at him as though he wasn't real, and Pellaeon suspected a little physical reassurance would be helpful. A quick glance down at Pellaeon's hand was the only visible reaction to the touch. He dimly registered the way Thrawn's pulse quickened under his fingers. “I’m not dead, sir. I'm not even dying.”

Another glance downward. Pellaeon opted to ignore it just to see what he would do. “There were three of them. I remember it now. Were they captured?”

The grand admiral closed his eyes and shook his head. Hair still in slight disarray from his unconventional sleeping position, the movement only served to shift it so that his bangs fell over his forehead. It made him look even more boyish than he had in sleep, as though covering up the worry lines in his forehead relieved him entirely of the burden of his command. “No,” he answered softly. “The traitors used you as a diversion to buy themselves time to take out Ensign Jaeger's guards and kidnap him.”

Pellaeon's eyes widened slightly. Jaeger could have been a promising asset to them and it couldn’t have been a coincidence that he was kidnapped so soon after learning about his abilities. “What are we going to do about it?”

Thrawn shifted his arm slightly under Pellaeon's to reciprocate the touch. Pellaeon glanced down, but didn't move his hand away. It was a comforting touch. “I'm still considering that,” Thrawn answered. “I don't think even Lieutenant Ackerman's squad could handle themselves against an entire network of hostile Force-sensitives, especially if they've all received similar training to our operatives.”

“You know for sure they were Jedi?”

A frown preceded his response, though it wasn’t directed at the admiral lying in the bed. “They were certainly Jedi or something similar, yes. Ensign Arlert says they were carrying lightsabers, and I find him to be reliable. Beyond that, the timing of it doesn’t leave much room for it to be anything else. The Rebels never crossed his path, and our three missing officers were in the mess hall when Jaeger’s ability first manifested.” 

Damn. That was definitely not good. “We can't just let them have him,” Pellaeon pointed out, his head a little more clear now than it had been when he woke up. “He's one of our best agents, and he's been on too many confidential operations. I’ve heard stories of interrogations done by Jedi. Jaeger’s had good training, but these people can’t be too moral if they were trying to kidnap or kill infants, as their attempt on the Organa Solo babies would suggest. They'd damage him beyond all repair.”

“Agreed,” Thrawn replied. “We know where they're headed, at least, but I don't think they'll have an easy time breaking Ensign Jaeger.”

Pellaeon shifted against him slightly to a more comfortable position. “It's still risky to leave him with them. He's never been trained to resist someone trying to break into his mind with their own.” It was impossible for him to forget what had C'baoth had done to General Covell, one of the most willful and determined men Pellaeon had ever known. Jaeger was plenty willful, and he knew how to inspire and lead his comrades. The kid was full of determination to do his duty to the Empire and the lives in their care – but he was also only twenty-three, and still rather inexperienced.

Thrawn's thumb stroked absently over the inside of his forearm. Pellaeon noticed it, but the action didn’t register correctly in his mind. “I'm aware, yes, but there's little we can do for him without more information. I hardly want to alter all of our plans and schedules for the sake of one operative, and I can't send a rescue or mercy squad in without more information or we risk losing all of them as well. Patience, Admiral. We must be cautious.”

“Understood, sir,” he muttered, not happy about it, but seeing the wisdom in waiting.

A small, fond smile played over the grand admiral's lips. “Too tired to fight about it?” he asked. Obviously, the tone was intended to sound amused, but there was an undercurrent of concern in his voice and in his eyes.

“Just picking my battles, sir,” Pellaeon tried to assure him. “I'm going to be feeling drained for a while, remember? This incident probably didn’t help.”

That small smile lingered a moment longer, and then Thrawn looked away. Pellaeon thought he caught a hint of regret on his face. “Sir, we talked about beating ourselves up already.”

“It's not that.” Thrawn shook his head slightly, his blue-black bangs moving over his pale blue forehead. For a moment he was quiet, his lips pressed into a thin line as he mulled something over in silence. “I don't think there's actually a word for it in Basic. I'm not sure the concept even exists or how to explain it.”

Pellaeon tilted his head slightly to the right against his pillow. He'd never dared to pry into Thrawn's past before, never dared to ask any personal questions of the man. Now –while he was too tired, too drugged, and too curious to resist, and Thrawn was still worried about him dying – was probably the best chance he'd have to get away with asking anything personal of his superior officer. He couldn't resist. “What is it in your native language?” he asked.

“In Cheunh, it's 'ch'itt'ascar ch'acah',” Thrawn answered softly. The language was alien to him, with some sounds Pellaeon didn't think he ever could replicate. It was melodious and flowing. “The only other words for the concept I can think of in other languages are 'saudade' and 'la douleur exquise'.”

Neither of those terms were familiar to Pellaeon. “I don't recognize those,” he admitted. “'Cheunh' – is that your native language?”

Thrawn nodded. “Yes. It's one of the languages spoken on my home world.”

There was something he wanted to ask, but Pellaeon hesitated. This was new territory for them, Thrawn opening up a little about his past, and while he was curious, he wasn’t going to be an idiot about sating that curiosity. Pellaeon was afraid of pushing him too far, but he was so terribly curious. “If you don't mind my asking... what's your home planet like?”

He held his breath as he waited for a response, half-afraid Thrawn would reprimand him for prying. The question, to his relief, brought back that fond smile. “The surface is freezing cold and covered in massive glacial sheets due to an ice age that began around 5,000 years ago. Our population moved underground then, for the warmth and shelter provided by subterranean caverns. There are large caverns, and in those caverns are large cities, connected by transport tubes.”

The longer Thrawn talked, the more his voice took on a soothing, if a bit wistful, quality as he described to Pellaeon some of his favorite places from his youth. Between the sound of his voice and the slow stroking of Thrawn's thumb over the inside of his forearm, it was surprisingly easy to slip back into a sound, deep sleep.

– – –

Though it was dark when he woke, the smell of the air was so comfortingly familiar. It smelled colder than it felt under the several blankets on top of him. Clearly it was the time of year where autumn was in full swing, the air crisp with the smell of the dying leaves that likely littered the ground. Eren often dreamed of being back on Maria whenever he was on duty aboard the _Chimaera_ , but the smells were never as vivid as they were now. There was an arm draped over his waist, warm and heavy and comforting. It felt familiar, almost like Reiner’s arm, but Eren hadn’t shared a bunk with him since their days at the Imperial Academy on Rose.

Slowly, expecting to see nothing but the shiny, sterile wall of the room he shared with Armin aboard ship, Eren opened his eyes. Something was definitely off. These walls were metal, but they were white and not the pale gray of his quarters. The heavy arm was still draped across his waist and seemed to be attached to a warm, muscled body that was bigger than his own. Hot air blew gently over the back of his neck as the sleeping giant of a man spooning him from behind inhaled and exhaled. 

Shit, it really was Reiner? How the hell did Eren end up waking up in his arms? The bed was impossibly comfortable, so there was no way they were still on the _Chimaera_. The last thing Eren remembered was accepting food and drink from Marco and then lying down to rest.

Not wanting to wake Reiner, Eren carefully slipped out of his arms, out of the bed, and turned to get a good look at the room. Though it had a large floor-to-ceiling window that took up two of the room’s five unadorned walls there wasn’t much to look at. The only furniture and decoration consisted of the bed with a nightstand on both sides, and a large closet. The only door in the room led to a rather nice-looking refresher, and there were no signs of door control panels anywhere. As far as Eren could tell, they might as well have been trapped in a prison cell with a view.

Deciding that the view offered by the expansive window was his best chance to figure out where he was, Eren approached it and looked out. His fingertips lifted to rest gently against the transparisteel as the shock of what he was seeing hit him. The breathtaking view of Maria at dawn greeted Eren. It was something he’d been homesick for ever since he’d finished his shore leave here and returned to duty. The planet was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. Behind him Eren could hear Reiner waking up, and the sound of the sheets being moved as the other man stood up, then came to stand next to him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Reiner asked as he stretched.

It was, but Eren had more pressing things on his mind now that the tall blond was awake. “Yeah,” Eren agreed, then looked up at him. “How the hell did I get here?”

Reiner turned to look at Eren. Guarded and seemingly loathe to answer, the taller man hesitated. “Annie, Bertholdt, and I brought you here,” he replied after a moment. Whatever the rest of the answer was, Reiner was sure Eren wasn’t going to like it – that much was clear from the wary look on his face and the sheer calmness of his tone. “Our orders were to prevent Thrawn from handing you over to the first Jedi Master he can find in exchange for his or her services.”

All of his close friends had expressed similar concerns, but none of them had dared suggest anything this treasonous as a solution. “Are you tell me we _deserted_?” Eren asked incredulously. They were soldiers, and their job was to use their Human nature to protect the rest of the galaxy from whatever threats may come. They had taken an oath! He had friends and family aboard the _Chimaera_! Eren couldn’t just leave them!

It seemed to mean nothing to Reiner, and Eren grew angry when his friend shrugged it off. They couldn’t just abandon their pasts, their friends, and their duties. Eren felt like he could just reach out with his mind and throw the bed across the room the way he had Jean. He tried, vaguely recalling the process he’d used before, and just as he’d managed to tap into a flow of energy inside himself it felt like a weight clamped down on his mind, cutting him off. Confused, Eren whirled on Reiner. 

“No,” Reiner calmly rebuked before Eren could say anything. “You shouldn’t do that. This is an ability you absolutely have to learn to control, or you’ll end up hurting someone you love.”

The bed was forgotten about completely as the shock of what had just happened hit him. Eren gaped at Reiner. “You can use the Force?” He’d known Reiner since they were teenagers, and this was something he’d never known about the man who’d been like a big brother to their entire graduating class at the Academy.

“Everyone in the compound can. I don’t know all the details, but sometime during the Clone War and his genocide of the Jedi Order, Emperor Palpatine had a team of zenobiologists conduct Force-related experiments on those not sensitive to it. He started by kidnapping babies for some different experiment, and while the Jedi were distracted by that, he built this facility in the mountains as a testing ground.”

Eren frowned even harder at Reiner. “What happens here? Why was I kidnapped?” What the fuck was going on? What the hell had he been dragged into?

Reiner made a face that suggested he didn’t necessarily agree with what he was about to say, but continued on. “You were kidnapped because we couldn’t risk Skywalker stumbling across you. No one can afford to risk a reemergence of the Jedi Order right now and their arrogant and one-sided brand of so-called ‘justice’. As to what happens here, they’ve been experimenting on the poorer part of the population to see if they can increase a normal person’s midichlorian count enough to make them Force-sensitive. They had no success with the experiment at all until thirty years ago when some big shot doctor joined the research team.” Reiner gave Eren an apologetic look, the kind that gave Eren a bad feeling.

All his bad feelings lately seemed to lead back to one person. “Was that doctor my dad?”

“Yeah,” Reiner answered. The blond lifted a hand to his short hair and ran his fingers through it to try and straighten it out.

Well fuck. 

If his dad was involved then…

“So he did it to me the last time I was on leave,” he whispered, blood going cold as a few memories of that last fight surfaced in his mind. “But then why isn’t he here right now?” Shouldn’t his father’s face have been the first he saw upon waking?

A shrug answered him. “He asked those of us stationed with you to keep an eye on you and then he vanished. No one has seen him since you left Maria to return to duty after your last shore leave.”

Eren felt like he was going to be sick. “I need to sit down,” he declared. Something about that, about his father giving him shots, about him manhandling Eren, about some kind of argument he couldn’t remember before had flooded into his mind now, and the implications of it all made him ill.

Reiner helped Eren over to sit on the edge of the bed and sat next to him to gently rub a hand over Eren’s back. The more Eren thought about it, the dizzier he became from the overwhelming memories of what his father had done to him and other people. People he’d known and loved had probably been taken here and “treated”. Human experimentation had been going on here all this time and no one knew.

No one was going to know if he didn’t escape, find his father and –

The thought was interrupted by a wave of dizziness as the memories overwhelmed him.

At least he was on the bed when he fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About that joke, I was just trying to _lighten_ the mood.
> 
> I'll show myself out.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those red eyes darted away to look at the bulkhead wall behind Pellaeon’s head. “When we’re alone it is fine for you to just call me ‘Thrawn’, Admiral.”
> 
> If Pellaeon wasn’t mistaken, Thrawn looked embarrassed. There was a bit of a purple flush to his cheeks, and he seemed hesitant to make eye contact. For a moment Pellaeon sat in stunned silence. Eventually, just as Thrawn looked ready to make excuses and flee, Pellaeon found his voice. “Gilad,” he corrected, watching Thrawn’s face as those intense eyes returned to his. “If we’re dispensing with the formalities in private, then please don’t use my rank either.”

Only two weeks after Jaeger’s kidnapping Pellaeon was cleared to return to duty for half-days only. The bridge crew was nearly as happy to have him back as he was to be allowed out of sickbay and back onto the bridge of his ship. Word of how he had single-handedly saved two infants had spread through the crew, and the awe and respect his peers and subordinates showed him had tripled. It was pleasant, partially because that meant they were all waiting on him hand and foot, so Pellaeon didn’t have to move around much if he didn’t feel up to it during his four hours in command.

It certainly helped that he had been promoted to admiral during his medical leave and assumed that command upon his return to duty. According to long-standing military traditions, Pellaeon was supposed to claim a flagship of his own with the promotion, but almost all of the people he considered to be his family and friends were aboard the _Chimaera_. There were also the facts that he wasn’t well enough to leave McKirk’s care, and Thrawn still had many things Pellaeon needed to learn before he could be set loose to be an admiral on his own. One of those things was the passing on of the codes and procedures necessary to access the Special Files section in the Imperial Library. Though the nearest base that held copies of the files wasn’t under the control of their (or any) faction of the Fleet, Pellaeon was fairly certain they would be permitted access. Several of his friends still held command positions on Yaga Minor, and if they were exceptionally lucky those friendships might be able to secure the Ubiqtorate base solely under Thrawn’s command.

There were footsteps behind him, so Pellaeon turned his new, much more comfortable, command chair – another perk of his promotion – to see who it was. “Captain Quenton,” he greeted with a cordial nod, just to watch the man puff up with pride a little at the mention of his new rank. 

“Admiral,” Quenton returned, offering a friendly smile. “How are you feeling?”

Not this again. He’d given orders only twenty minutes ago for the bridge crew to leave him alone for an hour unless it was an emergency. Despite eventually being permitted to do some work while on medical leave, there were still a large number of reports he needed to work through and these constant interruptions to check on his well-being were interfering with that. The concern was nice, he’d decided, but not when it inconvenienced him. “Well enough,” he replied, though his tone was guarded. “I’m rather tired of lying in bed, in any case. Are you already trying to kick me off the bridge for the afternoon?”

The question drew a slight chuckle from the much younger man. “I wouldn’t normally dare, but your order to ‘leave you alone for an hour or else’ has been overturned by a higher authority.”

Great. Pellaeon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I can’t help but suspect the entirety of the senior officers aboard this vessel are conspiring against me with the grand admiral.”

“If by that you mean ‘conspiring to get you to the mess hall to take mid-day meal with us’, then yes. It’s a conspiracy and Grand Admiral Thrawn is our crafty ringleader out to make your life a living hell. Shall we?” Quenton nodded his head toward the turbolift in invitation – which would undoubtedly turn into an order from Thrawn if he didn’t accept that invitation – and Pellaeon stood.

If he didn’t eat when ordered Thrawn would have him put back on bed rest the minute he found out.

The mess hall closest to the bridge and frequented by the ship’s bridge duty officers was relatively empty at this hour, possibly the reason why Thrawn was dragging him down for midday meal at this time of the day instead of his usual time two hours from now, on the off-chance Pellaeon suffered a fainting spell that the medics were concerned could happen. It hadn’t escaped his notice that he was also being casually escorted everywhere, either by stormtroopers following him or by a fellow officer at his side. The concern was touching, yes, but Pellaeon estimated it wouldn’t be long now before it became irritating and insulting.

Thrawn was waiting for the pair when they arrived in the mess hall, along with Commanders Smith and Ardiff, General Pixis, and Majors Vermel and Zakarius. His junior officers stood as he approached, following protocol, which made it easier for Pellaeon to see that food had already been put on the table for him at Thrawn’s right-hand side. As he exchanged greetings with the collection of officers he noticed that today the plate consisted of his favorite foods, which did bring the slightest of smiles to his face. That had to be Meizh Vermel’s doing. They’d been friends for years now, long enough for him to have memorized Pellaeon’s favorite foods simply by association. He sat down in his usual spot and nodded his thanks to Meizh as he dug in.

The other officers, despite visiting Pellaeon in sickbay often over the last two weeks, were still busy trying to catch him up on everything that had happened since the Noghri had taken him hostage. It was the first time since then that all of them had been able to dine together. Pixis took the opportunity to show off the latest holos of his granddaughters, and Meizh showed him the new ones of his infant niece. The resulting conversation and storytelling was something Pellaeon had missed a bit over the last few weeks. Though exhaustion was rapidly encroaching on him, he decided that it was worth it to stay up awhile longer for the company.

As was the case with all Humans when dining with so many people crammed around a single table, fingers brushed while passing condiments, arms and shoulders would rub, and thighs would sometimes touch. Though he wasn’t normally a physically demonstrative man, Pellaeon wasn’t horrified by physical contact like Lieutenant Ackerman. Thrawn’s leg had been pressed to Pellaeon’s since the beginning of the meal, and he was loath to give up the warmth when his body was still feeling unnaturally cold. The way it felt like a hot brand through his uniform pants reminded Pellaeon of the night Jaeger had been abducted and he had been calmed enough to sleep by holding Thrawn’s wrist and listening to the soothing sound of his voice as the Human drifted off into slumber. Subconsciously, he shifted a little closer into the heat of Thrawn’s body, wanting more warmth than just that from his thigh. If any of the other officers noticed, they wisely said nothing.

When the meal was finished Thrawn volunteered to walk Pellaeon to his quarters since he was off duty for the afternoon as well. No one expressed any disagreement to the plan, so Thrawn and Pellaeon left together when the grand admiral was certain his protégé had eaten enough to continue the healing process. Thanks to his promotion Pellaeon’s room was now directly across the hall from Thrawn’s quarters. His new rooms were only slightly bigger than his old ones, but every millimeter of space mattered on a ship and he’d happily accepted the added couple of cubic meters. The change was comforting. Security on this end of Officers’ Row was tighter and the stormtroopers stationed continuously outside Thrawn’s door had standing orders to assist Pellaeon if it was needed.

Those same guards were ignored for now as Thrawn waited on Pellaeon to key in his access code and then followed him in. “How are you feeling? Truthfully?”

Pellaeon sat down on the piece of furniture that passed as a couch to tug off his boots and sighed. He sat the boots aside and turned to look up at Thrawn, inviting him to sit with a gesture. “I’m still exhausted, but I’m getting tired of lying in bed for most of the day.”

“I can imagine,” Thrawn said, and accepted the invitation to sit next to his subordinate. “Captain Quenton tells me you’ve been getting impatient with the concern being shown to you.”

Feeling much more comfortable without his boots, Pellaeon shifted to lean against the back of the couch. “A little. Do you want a drink?” he offered, remembering his manners. A hand on his chest gently pressed him back down as Pellaeon tried to stand.

“No, thank you,” Thrawn responded. His tone was cordial, but there was no missing the reprimand coming next. “You’re under orders to stay down and avoid drinking alcohol, Admiral.”

Somehow he resisted the urge to grumble as he let himself be pressed into the cushion. When Thrawn had been recovering from his own bout of heavy blood loss Pellaeon had been just as strict about ensuring the grand admiral followed the medics’ instructions. He quirked an eyebrow at Thrawn as he sleepily dragged his body around on the couch to face him. “Is this some sort of revenge?” he joked.

The hand on his chest traveled up to his shoulder to give it a brief squeeze, then slid briefly over his bicep as Thrawn pulled his hand away, leaving a trail of fading warmth in its wake. “I’m just following the excellent example you set,” he defended himself. There was something playful about the upward turn of his mouth and the glimmer of his glowing red eyes that Pellaeon had never seen in him before. It was a good change, one which had the result of seeming to take a year or two off of Thrawn’s face.

Not willing to watch it fade just yet, Pellaeon gave Thrawn a look of mock incredulity. “I’m sure your insistence on having me escorted everywhere just comes straight from my doctor,” he commented, injecting the remark with the slightest amount of sarcasm. Thrawn cracked a light smile in response.

“Of course it is. I most certainly didn’t give any orders to our subordinates to make certain you couldn’t stubbornly ignore the medics’ orders and push yourself too hard.”

There was so much innocence in his voice that Pellaeon knew immediately that was a bold-faced lie; however, the fondness he picked up on made it impossible to be angry at being so well cared for. Ignoring the clear confession, Pellaeon chose to focus on the jibe at what his mother had used to call his innate willfulness. “ _I’m_ stubborn?” he asked, feigning disbelief.

“You are,” Thrawn confirmed. He was trying to keep a straight face, it seemed, but his lips were threatening to turn upward into a smile.

Pellaeon huffed at that. “By whose standards?”

The grand admiral shifted slightly, bringing their legs into contact again. It was just so odd, how all of Pellaeon’s attention went straight to that single point of physical contact between them. “By everyone’s,” Thrawn informed him. “You are definitely the most stubborn man on the ship.”

“I beg to differ, sir.” Now he was having trouble keeping a straight face. Damn smiles and their tendency to be infectious. “I can name at least one more person aboard who’s more stubborn than I am.”

“Oh?” Thrawn feigned surprise. “Who could that possibly be?”

Pellaeon gave his superior officer a pointed look, and Thrawn lifted a hand to his chest, looking scandalized. The lower-ranking admiral nodded in response and waited. For a moment, he thought Thrawn would continue the charade, but then their eyes locked and Pellaeon couldn’t help cracking a small smile that had the effect of making Thrawn smile as well. “You’ve caught me,” he admitted, then paused and tilted his head to take in the admiral’s face. “Though I’d say you’re a close second.”

“Probably,” Pellaeon conceded. “I’ve been in the military for too long to not have learned when to dig my heels in on something.

Thrawn’s hand lifted to rest on his shoulder again. The pleasant warmth felt grounding to him. “Just please don’t dig your heels in on this. I need you well. The Empire needs you well.”

Now that was an interesting choice of words – and for such a serious and sincere tone. Pellaeon tilted his head slightly, leaned minutely into Thrawn’s touch, and took a good look at his face. There was so much honesty there.

“What?” Thrawn asked, looking at him again with concern.

The new admiral just shook his head slightly and gave the other man a small smile that he didn’t realize held more than a hint of fondness. “It’s just difficult to imagine you _needing_ anybody.” Pellaeon answered. 

Thrawn almost looked embarrassed at being called out on his choice of words, but he didn’t pull away. “Ah,” he replied, and bit into his bottom lip briefly while Pellaeon tried to figure out what his eyes were completely focused on those lips and teeth. “It’s rare,” he admitted. “I don’t give my trust lightly. There have been very few people in my life who have earned it and even less I would say that I wished to keep close to me because I considered them friends or family. For you to have gained that status so quickly is remarkable.”

A warmth filled Pellaeon’s chest at that and brought a pleased flush to his cheeks. Thrawn’s thumb stroked over his shoulder through the fabric of Pellaeon’s uniform and Pellaeon shivered in response to the intimate touch without quite realizing what had happened or why. The grand admiral thought that highly of him? “Sir?”

Those red eyes darted away to look at the bulkhead wall behind Pellaeon’s head. “When we’re alone it is fine for you to just call me ‘Thrawn’, Admiral.”

If Pellaeon wasn’t mistaken, Thrawn looked embarrassed. There was a bit of a purple flush to his cheeks, and he seemed hesitant to make eye contact. For a moment Pellaeon sat in stunned silence. Eventually, just as Thrawn looked ready to make excuses and flee, Pellaeon found his voice. “Gilad,” he corrected, watching Thrawn’s face as those intense eyes returned to his. “If we’re dispensing with the formalities in private, then please don’t use my rank either.” He was hardly going to address his superior so informally if Thrawn wouldn’t return the courtesy.

There was a flash of relief on Thrawn’s face before it was quickly hidden away. Did the culture of Thrawn’s species have a difficult time with displays of affection between males, or was this embarrassment simply a personality quirk unique to Thrawn? Either way, Pellaeon found the quality endearing, even if it wasn’t what he was used to seeing from a man with such excellent self-control. It was also interesting – and, perhaps, a bit empowering – to think that he could have this effect on the man.

“Very well, Gilad,” Thrawn relented. He withdrew his hand again. “I should let you rest.”

Pellaeon didn’t want him to go, though exhaustion was starting to catch up with and he knew that within a matter of minutes he would be extremely boring company. As much as he hated to admit it, the medics were right: he still needed a great deal of extra sleep thanks to the combination of blood loss and the chemical concoction their runaways had injected into him. Thrawn stood and offered him a hand up which Pellaeon accepted. It was still easy for him to lose his balance when going from sitting to standing. He waited patiently, hands resting firmly on Pellaeon’s elbows until Thrawn knew that his junior officer had his balance.

“Thank you,” Pellaeon said when he was steady.

“It’s no trouble,” Thrawn assured. Neither of them made a move to pull away as Thrawn gazed down into the eyes of his second-in-command. It felt to Pellaeon like Thrawn was looking for something; whatever it was, it made his stomach twist unexpectedly. “Do you need assistance getting safely into bed?” he asked without breaking the eye contact.

He was rather dizzy from his rapidly worsening exhaustion. It couldn’t hurt to be careful. Pellaeon wet his lips with his tongue. Something about the look on Thrawn’s face made him feel strange, almost as though he ought to be anticipating… something. What that something could be, the admiral didn’t know. “I would appreciate it,” he responded.

“Do you want to change first?”

“No,” Pellaeon answered, “then I have to change again for evening meal.”

Thrawn tilted his head a little to the left. “Would you prefer to have your evening meal brought up to you?”

Did he? It would be a nice break from the sometimes overwhelming concern of everyone else. “Yes, but I’m not that fond of eating alone.” 

“Then I’ll make sure someone tolerable comes to eat with you,” Thrawn promised. “Do you need help changing?”

Probably, but Pellaeon would be damned if he was going to admit to that in front of his only superior officer. “No, sir,” he answered and stepped away. Thrawn’s hands slid off of his arms as Pellaeon went to change, and he sat back down on the couch to wait. Once he was assured that Pellaeon was comfortable and safely tucked under a pile of blankets, Thrawn turned to leave.

“Thrawn,” Pellaeon called, and the other man paused at the door, turning back to look at him. “Thank you.”

A genuine smile was his response. “Rest well, Gilad.” Thrawn let himself out and Pellaeon stretched out on his back. Something about every exchange he’d had with the grand admiral in private for the last several weeks had felt strange. It wasn’t necessarily a _bad_ sort of strange; however, everything that existed between them and comprised their working and off duty relationships felt like it had shifted somehow. Toward what, Pellaeon couldn’t say. It seemed like the more they got to know each other, the more they became comfortable with each other. The more comfortable they became with each other, the more charged the air between them felt until even the usually companionable silences were filled with it. Every word breathed between them felt like an unexplored opportunity and every touch held his attention in weird and unexpected ways. Even with Thrawn out of his quarters Pellaeon swore he could still feel the ghost of his hands on his shoulders and elbows.

Brushes with death did often have psychological effects on the victim, and he and Thrawn had both recently suffered one. Reaching out for comfort was likely just a perfectly natural reaction. What else could it possibly be? No, that had to be it, Pellaeon was sure of it. Satisfied with this conclusion, Pellaeon dimmed the lights, closed his eyes, and let himself get some more rest.

– – –

If it was unusual for a lowly field operative to be called before the senior researchers of the Titan colony, it was almost unheard of for a lowly field operative to be called before the senior researchers and the project director himself. Once Eren had fallen unconscious the summons had arrived via a messenger at his door. He left Eren under Reiner and Annie’s watch and proceeded immediately to answer the summons. Though he’d never been in the meeting chambers used by the highest ranking officials involved in the project, Reiner knew through the Force where to go. Two of the senior members were standing guard outside, and they waved him through without a word. 

Like the rest of the facility, the white ceiling was high off the ground. The white walls curved upward into a thick dome that had steel-reinforced transparisteel windows to let in an abundance of light. The large tiles beneath his feet were white marbled flecked with gray. Directly under the dome was a round table, around which sat Director Reiss, his top two advisors, a bodyguard Reiner vaguely recalled was named Kenny-something, and the three chief scientists currently working on the project. With the exception of the director dressed in black and the scientists with their white lab coats, everyone else (including him) wore the lighter gray military-style uniform of the Titan Project. It was comforting to be home, and to see the familiar sight of the uniform.

Reiner came to a stop one meter away from the table and stood at attention while he waited for the pleasure of attending to his superiors. They let him stand motionless for a moment before the director waved him into the only empty seat. Reiner obeyed and rested his clasped hands on the surface of the table. In truth, he had no idea why he was here, since he had already been fully debriefed on their previous assignment. It was possible they were giving him another assignment, though why he’d need to be with such a high-ranking group of men and women to receive it was beyond him. Typically his assignments would be passed down to him by his own supervisor.

Not today, it seemed. 

“Have you given Eren Jaeger the information as instructed?” Director Reiss asked, wasting no time whatsoever on pleasantries. 

Just because he was the youngest person in the room didn’t mean Reiner didn’t know how to read people. If the director didn’t want to mince words or waste time with niceties, then Reiner wouldn’t either. “Yes, sir,” he responded.

“How was the news received?”

“He’s in shock, Director. I explained the situation as ordered and he ended up fainting.” Not that it had been a surprise. Finding out your father was one of the ‘bad guys’ and had irrevocably ruined your life couldn’t be too easy to deal with. 

Silence reigned for a moment, and Reiner resisted the urge to shift impatiently in his seat. While he knew it was just his superiors communicating through the Force, he’d been around regular humans long enough that conversation without words weirded him out again. He used to time to take a couple of deep breaths and center his mind. There was no need to be nervous, not when Reiner had followed his orders to the letter. Punishment wasn’t going to be dealt to him today.

The director nodded after a moment and then turned his attention back to Reiner. “We would like to see Jaeger adjust fully to our beliefs and our way of life. For that, we’ll need to make sure he has something to purposefully anchor him here. You must bring him around to our way of thinking.”

That was going to be harder than the director knew, Reiner thought, and didn’t project. “Eren is incredibly stubborn,” he said instead. “Trying to get him to cooperate is going to be difficult.”

“Nevertheless, he must be tamed,” replied Reiss. “We have foreseen it. It is necessary to have Jaeger on our side, and quickly. You will do whatever you must to make sure he remains cooperative and docile toward us, while you turn him against the Imperial Fleet. Those must be your primary objectives.”

That was going to _suck_ but Reiner could do it. “Yes, sir,” he agreed. 

It wasn’t as though he had a choice.

Director Weiss nodded. “Excellent. That is all for now, Reiner. You’re dismissed.”

They called him all the way down here for that? Reiner stood and acknowledged the order with a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Getting Eren to willingly cooperate with him to the point that he was willing to abandon his best friends for the sake of a group of people he’d been blissfully unaware of until recently was going to be a challenge, he thought as he headed through the corridors that led to his room. Eren was pigheaded, but Reiner knew he could be just as stubborn as his friend. He’d have to find some kind of way to show Eren how his new life among the Titans could be of great benefit to everyone, and to every citizen in the Empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna name all OCs in this after pairings because why not. I'm also feeling a bit unsure about this chapter, but decided to post it anyway so I can move on with my life.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Interesting,” Pellaeon murmured when they caught sight of the name under his on the list of everybody who had ever accessed the file. “Is Dr. Grisha Jaeger related to our missing ensign?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've edited this four times, and while I think I got all the mistakes, I can barely keep my eyes open. Apologies if there are any! That's on me.

When Eren finally came to, Reiner gave him clothes to change into that weren’t his Imperial uniform. Despite wearing civvies on plenty of undercover missions they felt strange to him after spending the majority of the last several years in his uniform. There was nothing wrong with the green tunic, brown pants, and knee-high boots, but they didn’t feel right on him anymore. Reiner had insisted the uniform would make him stand out inside the compound too much and invite unwanted attention, however, so Eren had eventually relented. As the taller man escorted him on a tour that suspiciously didn’t include any routes to the outside, Eren had to admit that Reiner was probably right. Plenty of people gave him curious looks as they passed, but nothing worse happened.

There were plenty of windows in the facility, but very few obvious doors, and they all led inward. From his own observations, it seemed that the occupants of the building used the Force to open and close concealed doors. Also lacking in the building outside of Reiner’s quarters were right angles in the white walls and white floors. To him, it felt like being stuck inside an egg, and after being part of such a precise and disciplined institution for so long, the new location was jarring. They were on his homeworld, but the compound felt so utterly alien that he could scarcely believe he was really so close to home.

The unease building steadily inside him made it really weird to see the corridors filled with happy-looking people. In his experience, victims of weird experimentation generally looked more put out or downtrodden. “Everyone here looks so happy,” he morosely muttered, put off by the way nothing here fit into his worldview.

Reiner looked down at Eren as they rounded a bend in the hall. “Why shouldn’t they? No one here is being tortured. Did you think that we were all forced into this?”

The look of embarrassment on the brunet’s face was probably all the answer Reiner needed, but Eren nodded anyway. His reaction drew an amused smirk from the blond. “It’s a forgivable assumption,” he commented. “I didn’t believe it when my parents brought me here either, and it was the same for Bertie and Annie. They aren’t like the Jedi of the Old Republic. They aren’t Jedi at all – the title is considered an insult here. No one here thinks that they have an inalienable right to impose their arrogant and subversive version of justice on the galaxy.”

“But you guys attacked us and I bet you helped kidnap Captain Pellaeon!” Eren protested. The outburst resulted in Reiner grabbing him by the elbow and pinning Eren’s back against the wall in an alcove he hadn’t even seen. 

Reiner pressed in close in the way he’d used to do when they would sometimes fool around and play kissing games while they were still cadets at the Imperial Academy on Rose. Eren’s body reacted instinctively to the closeness, but not in the way he wanted it to react, such as with a punch to his insufferably smug face. “Lower your voice,” Reiner bit out quietly. “Do not make a scene here, Eren.” 

There was plenty of threat in the blonde’s tone and his face. “A scene should be made,” Eren snapped back at him, enraged enough to not really care if causing a scene here would be upsetting to anybody. “People _died_ , Reiner!”

“People die every day!” he hissed back at Eren. “Every damn day, Eren, trillions of lives are ended across the galaxy – probably the same in other galaxies. Trillions die and trillions are born. What are you going to do about it? _That’s life_. That’s the essential process. Energy forms into matter, that matter exists, changes, gather experiences, and then dissipates back into energy and begins the process again. Shouting about in the halls of a peaceful place where peaceful people are trying to study and go about their lives won’t do a damn thing but get you into trouble I won’t be able to get you out of so keep your mouth shut until we get back to my room.”

Eren was trembling against him in anger, but he nodded once in agreement. “Fine!” he snarled, and let Reiner jerk him from the alcove and guide him back the way they came.

“The kidnapping wasn’t us,” came the firm denial as they entered Reiner’s room.

The shorter officer whirled on the other as the seamless door closed and locked, hands fisted at his side. “Then who the hell was it?”

Reiner rested his hands on Eren’s biceps in an attempt to calm him down. “I don’t know who helped the Noghri, Eren! Whoever did it knew Annie, Bertie, and I had been off ship, when we’d return, who we were, and our goals. The _Chimaera_ wasn’t even supposed to be near Honoghr when the strike force went after the Jedi. Our orders were to do what we could to keep the ship away from Honoghr, but then the Noghri kidnapped the captain and we couldn’t just let an old man be tortured to death!” Reiner took a deep breath to calm himself, and released Eren to turn and pace toward the windows. “Someone set us up.”

They couldn’t stand to let Captain Pellaeon die but were fine with kidnapping babies? The disjointed reasoning didn’t sit right with Eren. He moved away, putting some space between himself and Reiner so he could think, and sat down on the bed with a huff. In front of him, Reiner stood admiring the view of the mountains. Training as an Imperial Intelligence officer had done wonders for Eren’s originally poor observation skills (according to Armin), and that training let him break down Reiner’s posture into information he could use. With the current lighting Eren couldn’t see the reflection of his face in the transparisteel, but he could tell by the set of his friend’s shoulders and the way his hands were clasped behind his back that he seemed ill at ease. Reiner might have been a traitor to the Empire, but he was still Eren’s friend, wasn’t he? He hadn’t done anything yet to make him think the blond man agreed with hurting innocent people. If anything, mentioning it seemed to agitate him, a fact that came as a relief.

Deciding it couldn’t hurt to push him for information, Eren fell back on the non-violent interrogation techniques he had learned. “What do you want with the babies?” he demanded. “Two of your ‘targets’ are just infants!”

“Kill the adults, kidnap the babies,” Reiner muttered as he threw a glance over his shoulder at Eren. Bitterness twisted his handsome features, furthering Eren’s suspicion that Reiner wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea. “Our leaders want to wipe out all the old remnants of the Jedi Order and the Sith Lords so we can make our own place in the galaxy without either side of the dispute having someone train us into following only their ideals.”

“But you don’t want to do it,” Eren observed, “so why the hell are you going along with it?”

Was it possible to feel how angry someone was? Reiner seemed to be radiating it. Knowing that he’d gotten under friend’s skin only served to egg him on. “They’re babies, Reiner, you can’t just be fine with kidnapping babies!”

“I’m a soldier, Eren!” Reiner snapped. “I do what I have to do for the greater good of our people!”

Eren stood and took a few steps from the bed toward the windows as the bigger man whirled around on him. The brunet tilted his head up slightly so he could look Reiner in the eyes. “You’re a person _first_ , Reiner, and a soldier second. That means you get to make your own damn choices about what’s right or wrong and if a leader is worth following!”

The dirty look he got in return nearly made him flinch away, but Eren was too irritated and too determined to give up any ground. Reiner gestured toward the hidden door with his right hand. “They raised me,” he said in a low, angry tone. “I owe them.”

A tone like that was always a warning sign with Reiner, but Eren stubbornly ignored it and pressed on. “You don’t owe them anything!” he argued in return. “It wasn’t your choice to come here, right?” Fed up, Reiner turned away from him. Oh no, he wasn’t getting out of this that easily. Eren took three long steps to close the distance between them and grabbed Reiner’s elbow to spin him around. His actions got his wrists grabbed, held in a tight grip he couldn’t pull free from. “Answer me, asshole!” Eren insisted anyway.

Reiner never did. He stared Eren down for a minute, his face hard and eyes blazing. Eren thought he might be trying to decide what to do. After another minute, he shifted his grip on Eren’s wrists to one big hand, and waved the other in front of his eyes. “You want to go to sleep,” Reiner suggested.

It felt like somebody had put a blanket over his mind. _The hell I do!_ Eren thought, and was pretty surprised when “I want to go to sleep” was the reply he gave. It was nowhere near the surprise he barely had enough time to feel when his body obeyed instantly.

\- - -

Pellaeon had managed to fall asleep in the middle of evening meal the previous night, and didn’t wake up until someone was shaking his shoulder the next morning. Blearily, he rolled over to see Meizh crouched next to the small couch and shaking him awake. “Rise and shine, Gil,” his aide said. “We’re on approach to Yaga Minor now. Grand Admiral Thrawn sent me to wake you up when you wouldn’t answer the intercom.”

Oh. Right. They were here for a very important reason. With the help of the younger man Pellaeon sat up and hoped he could blame the sudden redness in his cheeks on his health. Last night’s sleep had brought with it some very unusual dreams. They were definitely not the sort of dreams a professional military man should be having about anybody else in the service, no matter the other party’s rank or the fact that the dreams had been rather tame. Pellaeon stood carefully and let Meizh grip his forearms until they were both sure Pellaeon was steady on his feet. Maybe it was his imagination or a lingering sensation from his dream, but the major’s touch – a touch from a close, personal friend – felt a hell of a lot less intimate than any physical contact he’d had with the subject of his dreams over the last couple of weeks. 

No, it had to be his imagination. Dreams were just dreams.

Feeling steady, Pellaeon nodded his thanks and the major stepped away to assist the newly minted admiral in getting ready for the day. Moving quickly still took quite a large effort that he simply wasn’t capable of for anything longer than short bursts. He’d fully expected to have accidentally delayed the trip, but was surprised to discover that Thrawn hadn’t been waiting very long for him to arrive. Thrawn dismissed Meizh, and offered Pellaeon his arm as assistance in getting up the steep ramp and into the shuttle that would take them onto the base. Unwilling to expend any more energy than necessary, Pellaeon accepted. The shuttle was being piloted and crewed by Intelligence’s surveillance team because they all knew of the situation regarding the new admiral’s health and were heavily involved in the search for the group that had attacked them at Honoghr. None of them batted an eyelash at the sight of Thrawn helping Pellaeon into his seat or helping him stand and steadying him after they landed. 

They headed down the ramp together with Thrawn in the lead, Pellaeon close at his side, Commander Smith behind him, and Major Zakarius bringing up the rear. The base commanders had prepared a proper greeting for them, and several columns of stormtroopers and officers were waiting at attention for them as the three highest ranking Imperial Army officers at the location stepped forward to greet them. There was a general – the base commander – a major general, and Colonel Hestiv, a very old friend of Pellaeon’s. If any of them hadn’t known that the last of Emperor Palpatine’s handpicked warlords was an alien, they hid it well, along with any sign of distaste.

As they approached the group, the three men came to attention. Pellaeon had to admit to being slightly impressed by the discipline being displayed – never mind that yesterday he had looked over the most recent information they had regarding the base. Yaga Minor was well-maintained, properly staff, and even managing to run just slightly under budget. With finances strained despite current victories and Moffs forever tightening their purse strings, leadership that work with well within their given budget was essential to the Empire. 

The general in charge of the base stepped forward as they took a few steps away from the ramp and came to a halt. “Welcome to Yaga Minor, Grand Admiral Thrawn, Admiral Pellaeon,” he greeted. His voice was that of a career officer, clipped, precise, and easy to follow. “I’m General Chex Tuckington. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, sir.”

“Likewise,” Thrawn cordially replied with a slight nod of his head. “And your officers?”

The general turned slightly and gestured to each man in turn. “May I present my second-in-command, Major General Nork Grimmons, and my personal aid, Colonel Felix Hestiv?”

“Gentlemen,” Thrawn greeted. He turned slightly to his own party. “This is my second-in-command, Admiral Gilad Pellaeon, Commander Erwin Smith, and Major Mike Zakarius.”

General Tuckington nodded politely to the junior officers. “A pleasure, gentlemen,” he said, and Pellaeon’s opinion of the man rose another notch. Officers who were willing to acknowledge those of a lower rank and were equally willing to be polite to them usually turned out to be excellent men. 

His attention turned back to the grand admiral. “If you have the time, sir, I’d be delighted to personally show you around the base.”

“That would be appreciated, General,” Thrawn replied.

They were given a tour that ended at the Ubiqtorate section of the base. Commander Smith and Major Zakarius remained outside with General Tuckington and his staff. Their placement outside had been carefully calculated as a way to distract the general from what the grand admiral wanted with the Special Files in the first place and to put him more at ease by hearing first-hand from those who knew well what it was like to serve under Thrawn. The Ubiqtorate staff there gave them a terminal to access the files, and Thrawn dismissed them in the interest of maintaining their privacy and the secrecy around their errand. 

“Sit,” Thrawn ordered in a low voice, reaching out to guide Pellaeon by the elbow into the sole chair at the terminal. “You’re hiding it reasonably well, but you look like you’re already tiring.”

Pellaeon didn’t need to be told twice. Thrawn doubtlessly already knew that he was correct and denying it would only lead to embarrassment if he fainted or fell over. “I’ll talk you through it twice,” Thrawn continued, “and then you’ll do it twice without my help. Go ahead and put your newest code cylinder in so I can authorize it to access the Special Files section.”

It took a few minutes but Thrawn got the code cylinder registered to access the system, and talked him through the rather complicated access procedure. Tired as he was, it took Pellaeon more than Thrawn’s optimistic two tries to get it down, and several more minutes after that to fumble through the search procedure to find the correct file. Leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder, Thrawn read over the classified information with him. There was nowhere near as much information as there should have been. Large chunks seemed to be missing from the report; even with Thrawn’s touch slightly distracting him, Pellaeon could see that much.

“Someone’s altered it,” Thrawn muttered. “The original file was several dozen pages long, complete with data analysis and the results from the earlier tests. We need to check and see who the last person was to edit the file.”

The Special Files section was just different enough from every other system he’d ever accessed during his time as an Imperial to be annoying and difficult to figure out on his own. It was the exact opposite of the intuitive and user-friendly systems used by the entire rest of the military. Thrawn talked him through looking up when the file had last been accessed and who had made the changes. “Interesting,” Pellaeon murmured when they caught sight of the name under his on the list of everybody who had ever accessed the file. “Is Dr. Grisha Jaeger related to our missing ensign?”

“It’s likely, yes,” Thrawn said, as he pulled out a data card and inserted it so the system could make a copy of the access list and what remained of the file. “He was here two days ago. Run his name through the database. We can pull up Ensign Jaeger’s file when we’re back aboard our ship.”

Pellaeon keyed for the search more easily this time, and they waited in silence for it to finish. Thrawn’s hand still rested on the new admiral’s shoulder, but his thumb was stroking absently over his uniform jacket and occasionally brushing over the skin of his neck that was right above the uniform collar. With nothing else to really focus on, Pellaeon’s body zeroed in on the touch. How the hell could one simple touch drive him so thoroughly to distraction? Should he pull away and risk making things awkward by pointing it out, or was it better to allow the touch, despite suspecting it would only contribute to more dreams like he’d dealt with last night?

Dwelling on it wasn’t an option any longer: the computer dinged, signifying the end of its search. The wait proved to be useless, at least in Pellaeon’s opinion. “How can he access the Special Files if he doesn’t exist?” he groused, beginning to tire and not overjoyed with their lack of information.

“He may have found a way to delete his records out of the system after altering the file,” Thrawn speculated quietly. “I’ll have to go through the list of those with permission to access these files and remove any authorizations he may try to use in the future, as well as those of our political enemies. My security clearance should be high enough for that.” The fingers of his hand that weren’t resting on Pellaeon’s shoulders drummed on the desk. “We will also issue a directive, Admiral. No one will be permitted to access the Special Files without direct and verified authorization from either you or me. We might as well take this opportunity to lock our political and military opponents out of the system. When we rejoin the others, you will ask your friend if he’s aware of Dr. Jaeger’s visit here, and if they spoke at all.”

At least issuing orders worked the same on this system as it did on the system aboard the _Chimaera_. Pellaeon keyed those in first to get them out of the way, and then let the grand admiral, leaning close over his shoulder in a way that somehow felt both personal and impersonal, show him how to do the rest. Thrawn withdrew the data card, then waited until Pellaeon had ejected and slid his code cylinder into the correct pocket on his uniform before leaning even closer. It was only his decades in the service and the discipline that came with such a thing that stopped him from shivering visibly as the warm air of the grand admiral’s breath ghosted pleasurably over his skin.

“Do you want me to help you stand?” Thrawn murmured into Pellaeon’s ear.

Very much aware of the way the sensuous puffs of air on his skin reminded him of the troubling dream he’d had earlier in the morning, Pellaeon shook his head. Despite his body assuring him that he would absolutely love the physical contact, this portion of the base was crawling with Intelligence agents of questionable loyalty that were presumably keeping an eye on them. If someone saw Thrawn help him stand and misinterpreted it as an intimate gesture, the rumors could be damaging to their command authority and the influence Thrawn currently held over the Moffs. “Better not,” he murmured in reply, “but stay close just in case.”

Thrawn nodded and stepped away, eyes carefully monitoring his subordinate as he stood. Though Pellaeon still felt a little dizzy when he took a step away from the chair and the reassuringly solid surface of the terminal, he was pleased to find that the lightheadedness cleared after a few steps so long as he didn’t move too quickly. It was gone completely by the time they rejoined the others in the hall, but quiet reassurances whispered between them didn’t do anything to stop Thrawn from hovering near his side as the group moved to the general’s office for a drink. Forbidden by the medics from having anything dehydrating for a few more weeks, Pellaeon had to politely decline the offer of what looked like a top shelf ale. While Thrawn chatted up the general and his second-in-command using his and Commander Smith’s combined charm, Pellaeon focused on his friend, determined to use the chance to both catch up with him and question him, as Thrawn had instructed. 

After exchanging pleasantries and catching each other up on their rather large families, Pellaeon turned the conversation back toward work. “Have you ever heard of a man named Dr. Grisha Jaeger?” he asked.

Hestiv blinked at him. His head tilted slightly to the right in his confusion. “I’ve heard of a High General Grisha Jaeger. He was here for a couple of hours two days ago to upload new files to the Special Files section.”

Well. That was interesting information. “Can you describe the man?” Pellaeon asked, keeping his face as impassive as he could manage.

“I can do one better than that,” Hestiv declared as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come with me and I can show you what ship he came in on, his registered flight plan, and the vector he took out of here.”

The two childhood friends politely excused themselves from the general’s office and stepped into the colonel’s adjacent office. Pellaeon was aware of Major Zakarius stepping into the hall after them where he could presumably keep an eye on both parties. The man towered over all of them, and Pellaeon hoped he would be an excellent deterrent to any potential troublemakers, assuming one could be found on such a well-run base. Hestiv keyed the computer to pull up the data files and security holos from the time of Jaeger’s visit. While they waited Hestiv showed off some new holos of his first grandchild that Pellaeon hadn’t seen yet. She was a gorgeous baby, with big blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that fell in curls over her pale face. Her chubby cheeks and innocent but joyful smile reminded Pellaeon of the way her mother had looked at that age. The baby was a dead-ringer for her, and therefore, for her proud grandfather. 

Pellaeon said as much just to watch him beam. “Of course, my son-in-law’s parents keep insisting she looks like her father,” Hestiv added with a snort.

“With a smile and hair like that?” The admiral shook his head. “Not a chance. She looks almost exactly like Xalle, and we both know how much your daughter looks like you.” 

Hestiv chuckled and began to reply, but was interrupted by the computer informing them that no results had been found. With a frown, the colonel keyed for the security footage of the hangar bay to which Jaeger’s ship had been assigned. Nothing. Every camera he’d walked by seemed to have been shut off for both the Intelligence and Security databases.

Grumbling, Hestiv gave him a bewildered look. “I know he was here. I confirmed his ID and met with him myself.” Hestiv keyed for another search, but it came up empty again and he swore under his breath. “Someone’s clearly tampered with the security data – probably him, with a clearance as high as the one he had.”

Now _that_ was what Pellaeon called a lead. “Do you remember the name of his ship or the last port he was at before he arrived?”

Hestiv nodded. There was fire in his eyes as he looked up at Pellaeon. “The ship’s name was the _Sykeus_ , out of the Titan system, but his vector definitely wasn’t heading back that way. It was one of the old Dart ships, gray hull, red lettering, in mint condition like a collector might keep. I’ve not seen one of those since we were in the Academy together.”

“Neither have I,” Pellaeon murmured, glancing up at the taller man as he tried to decide what questions to ask next. 

A knock at the door saved him from having to worry about it. The two of them turned as one and snapped to attention when they registered who it was. Thrawn waved them down and they relaxed their stances. “So this is where you’ve wandered off to,” he said conversationally. His eyes met Pellaeon’s before flicking over his posture and expression to check on him. “Have you found something?”

Pellaeon and Hestiv exchanged a glance and silently decided that Pellaeon would break the news while he did his best to ignore Thrawn’s evaluating look. He was definitely becoming more tired by the minute, and he’d hidden his trembling hands behind his back to make them less obvious, hoping Thrawn wouldn’t notice. “It’s more an issue of what we haven’t found, sir,” he replied. “I asked Colonel Hestiv if he’d ever heard of Dr. Jaeger, and he informed me that a man calling himself High General Grisha Jaeger was here two days ago. The man came in on an old Dart in mint condition, out of the Titan system, but all records of his ship – the _Sykeus_ – and any security footage seem to have been erased. We haven’t checked yet to see who accessed the footage last.”

Thrawn raised a blue-black eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Interesting,” he commented. “Did he say anything to you about his future destinations or what he’d been doing in the Titan system, Colonel?”

The colonel shook his head. “No, Admiral. Aside from mentioning that he had come from Titan when he requested permission to land, he was very short with all of us, even the general and major general.”

“They said as much. The general was able to render a sketch of him.” Thrawn produced a data pad and passed it over.

Hestiv took a moment to study it, and nodded. “That’s him, sir, without a doubt.”

Thrawn took it back with a small, sharp nod. “Thank you, Colonel.” His gaze flicked over to Pellaeon again, and he knew by the tightening of his eyes that the grand admiral had caught on to the fact that he was starting to tremble. “We’d best return to our ship and see if we can’t find someone who knows him. Colonel, see if you can get one of your tech people to restore that data and call us immediately if he or she is successful. Come along, Admiral.” 

Pellaeon paused long enough to bid his friend goodbye with a handshake and followed Thrawn back to the shuttle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end of this "book" of the fix. Just about 7-8 chapters left, I think. I appreciate you all reading this for so long, and especially your kudos and comments. :) Thanks.
> 
> Remember that you can always drop me prompts at [my writing blog](http://ibreathethroughwords.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
